True Freedom
by eternalhope08
Summary: JackOC. Ali's a noblewoman who's fed up with the restrictions on her life. Jack is a pirate intent on pillaging, looting, and ravaging. Fate throws them together. ON HIATUS because I can't bring myself to delete my first fic ever, no matter how awful.
1. Grounded Again

CHAPTER ONE

The ceiling really was very interesting, once you took a good look at it. Someone had taken the time to dab the paint on in pretty flowery spirals, equally spaced and congruent. How many were there? Around two hundred, she guessed. Perhaps counting them would make the time pass faster?

The girl sighed and rolled over on her bed. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. God, life was boring. She turned her face away from the pillow and started numbering the designs on her ceiling. _One, two, three…_

Somewhere between 253 and 260 (so her estimate was a bit off), Elizabeth Swann, her best friend, burst into her bedroom. She blinked twice at Lizzie, and sighed sullenly.

"Hullo." Ali said. Lizzie stood there, head tilted to the side. Lizzie was an attractive young woman, dark haired and eyed, and intense. At this moment, however, she was more patronizing than captivating.

"Grounded again, I presume." Elizabeth said, smiling exasperatedly. It was more a statement than a question. "What for this time?"

"Didn't want to attend that one party. What's-her-face's engagement. The usual." Ali replied, trying to pick up where she had left off counting. "Damn it, Lizzie, you made me lose my place!" She'd probably have to restart.

"I was hoping you'd err…redesigned your dress again. That was really quite entertaining." Elizabeth chuckled at the memory of the beautiful dress shabbily sewn and cut into what Ali called a more 'statuesque statement.' She placed herself daintily onto a spare chair.

"Oh, no, I was locked in this cursed place for two weeks because of that. I probably won't attempt something of the sort anytime soon. But I still think it was an improvement." Ali gave up her counting and sat up on her bed to face her best friend. "Today's the last day. Father wasn't so upset this time…I've only had to stay inside for three days. Things could be worse."

"Oh, Ali, you are the daftest girl I know. Why not just grace what's-her-face's engagement party with your presence and thus not suffer these err…groundations?" Elizabeth asked.

"Because those engagement parties are just as bad as these 'groundations' and I'd rather be alone and bored than in a stuffy party with stupid people and bored." Ali replied sharply. "Besides, I'm not like you Lizzie. I can't just pretend to be nice to the nobility. My face is incapable of a mask of polite interest. I can't help it…there's sort of a vindictive pleasure in informing such people of their arrogance and conceit."

Elizabeth laughed. "Even if I cannot partake in such pleasure, I can't deny it exists. Do you remember the time Katherine Monroe was bragging about her new French hairdo and you stated your astonishment that—"

"That French people had hairdos big enough for her head?" Ali said, grinning as well. "Yes, that was funny. But it was true as well. Their bigheadedness simply amazes me." She yawned again. "Of course, that tattletale had to tell my father. I was stuck in here for I think a week."

"The look on her face was worth it." Elizabeth said firmly, grinning.

"Lizzie…" Ali said seriously, all humor of the memory going out of her face. "I don't belong here. You know it, I know it, and for God's sake, the entire nobility knows it. The only person who won't accept my fate is my father. I will not and cannot be fashioned into the conformity. I want to…live. Free. I've always wished I could simply dive into the blue waters of the Spanish Main and swim away from Port Royal, its rules and traditions. Hell, let me transform into a dolphin while I'm at it. They have FUN, Lizzie. When was the last time you had fun here? Do you know how frustrated I am? I can't be cooped up! I can't sit in a sewing circle or at tea and ask politely about the latest gossip! I can't, and I'm suffocating here."

Elizabeth made no reply. Her sympathetic ear, however, was exactly what her friend needed. Elizabeth sighed inwardly. Everything Ali said was true. Ali didn't belong here, in a world of strict social laws and imperious nobles. She was a free spirit and her soul was confined here, chained because of her father's stubbornness. But Elizabeth also understood Lord Peterson's insistence that his daughter could be changed. Ali was all the elder gentleman had left, and it was natural that he wanted his only child by his side instead of having the free fun she desired.

It was a problem. And Elizabeth had no idea how to solve it.

* * *

Mornings always made bleak matters look brighter—or at least Ali felt so. She was up before the break of dawn, excited to be out of the dreaded mansion that had come to represent a cage for her soul. The groundation was over—she was a free woman!

"Miss Peterson?" A maid asked anxiously as the girl streaked past in the halls, nearly toppling the silver tray the maid carried. "Where are you going so early this morning, ma'am?"

"Oh. Good morning, Miriam. I'm headed out." Ali answered breathlessly, straightening a perilously perched pitcher of milk on the tray. The maid shook her head and clucked her tongue in shame.

"Now, miss, you haven't had any breakfast yet! And I, for one, won't let you leave without a good meal. A healthy breakfast is the way to start a healthy day, you know, ma'am. And your father won't appreciate you departing the house at these unearthly hours. Sit, Miss Alianne. I insist you eat a bit."

Ali heaved a resigned sigh and went to the table. In a moment Miriam was there with blueberry oatmeal, milk and honey, and all sorts of other delectable treats. Ali only ate because of Miriam's watchful eye. But Ali was truly hungry for fresh air and the glorious sunrise, not porridge and yogurt.

"There, Miss, aren't you feeling better now?" Miriam asked happily. Ali smiled at the young servant girl and her beaming grin, rosy cheeks, and good nature. Miriam was one of Ali's favorite maids. She seemed to radiate cheerfulness, a feat very hard to do in the Peterson mansion.

"May I leave now, please?" Ali inquired. Miriam chuckled and nodded, bustling off to do her other servant duties. Ali shrugged her jacket back on and was making her way towards the door when she heard the voice.

"Not quite yet, Alianne Peterson." Ali cringed at her father's voice and turned around to face him. He was getting on in years, and his features showed it. Wrinkles had formed around his blue eyes, and the corners of his mouth. His hair was as snowy white as his wig, but not quite as full—actually, his hair was rather lacking. Balding, to be accurate. Right now his tired gaze showed utter bewilderment as they rested upon her. Ali and her father understood each other as well as pigs understood multiplication.

Ali seated herself again as Lord Peterson did. She was in for The Lecture. There was no point in trying to escape now. It would just lead to another fight and another groundation. Damn it, she shouldn't have stayed for breakfast.

"Alianne—"Her father started to say, his voice slow and weary. He hated confrontations. Ali hated seeing him have to confront her. If he'd only let her be!

"I did it because I had no interest in what type of ring Abigail got, or what her dress looked like, or who she was marrying, or when, or why. I truly don't care what's happening in Abigail's life, and I am quite certain she doesn't care what's happening in mine. The engagement party was just a chance to flaunt her wealth and the treasures her fiancé gave her. I didn't want to attend because I can't stand listening to conceited braggarts touting." Ali interrupted, rolling her eyes. This conversation had happened so many times, she practically had it memorized.

The next 30 minutes were perhaps more torturous than the 30 hours spent in her room. Her father listed all the grievances and disgraces Ali had caused the Peterson name, how he hoped she would someday become a true lady, how true ladies acted, and how her actions contradicted those of a true lady's. All the while the sunrise slipped away from Ali's fingers. When at last her father had finished, Ali stood up.

"Can I leave now?" She inquired impatiently. She regretted her words immediately when she saw her father's devastated expression. Obviously his speech had no effect on his headstrong daughter.

"That's it, Alianne?" Lord Peterson asked quietly. "No apology for your behavior? No I will do better next time? Nothing?" He sighed in frustration and put his head in his hand.

"I'm sorry I disappointed you again, Father." Ali replied just as solemnly. She hated this—every moment of it. The guilt grew in her stomach. Ali was pushing a broken man further into the dirt. He waved his free hand at her, motioning for her to go. She hesitated, then leaned over and kissed his forehead before leaving the mansion.


	2. Her Spot

CHAPTER TWO

"G'day to ye, Ali!" Timothy the sailor cried, looking backward at her as he lugged a box of wooden cargo off a ship onto the dock. He lifted his cap briefly in greeting, causing his partner at the other end of the box to grunt with effort at the added weight. Ali smiled at him and waved, shifting her sketchbook and drawing pencils to the other hand. She was a regular at this dock in Port Royal. As she walked towards Her Spot, many other such welcomes came from various places. There was Rachel, the baker lady, who presented Ali with a pastry treat—just like all the other days. She was waiting for her beau, Cameron, also a sailor, and of course Jim the parrot, who squawked: "Redheaded rascal!" at her in passing. The air was unsullied and refreshing; the ocean was sparkling, and the sun gleaming. The whole bustling, merry atmosphere made Ali want to dance.

"It's the lass." A gruff old sailor, Mr. Hobbs, muttered as she skipped along. "Where ye been?" Behind that mask of grim dislike, Ali knew Mr. Hobbs was fond of her presence.

"I was grounded again. M'father decided that not goin' to Abigail Fort's party was not acceptable," Ali replied airily. She tried her best to imitate the way of speech around these docks. She admired it greatly but had never quite mastered the technique—there was always a hint of English nobility in her voice. Mr. Hobbs chuckled deeply as she tripped along, waving goodbye as she left.

About three minutes later she had reached it—Her Spot—and she heaved a sigh of satisfaction. It was a little indention in the wood, a perfect little chair which was lower than the rest of the port. When sitting there, you could see all of the Port Royal dock and its surroundings. Ali was home. She sat at the edge of the dock, removed her socks and shoes, and lifted her skirt just over her ankles. Then she plopped her feet into the cold water, relishing the gentle waves against her skin.

Whipping out her notebook and a newly sharpened pencil, Ali began to sketch her surroundings. Rachel and Cameron were kissing again—they were to be engaged soon—and Mr. Hobbs was arguing with Jim again. In two minutes she had a basic outline of their shapes, and began to add in details. Rachel's hair always blew gently in the wind, wisps streaking across her face. Mr. Hobbs's angry eyebrows as he scolded Jim were perhaps the most amusing thing Ali had seen in a while. And Jim's eyes had to have that insolent glimmer in them—or else he wasn't Jim.

Time passed. Ali couldn't quite get Jim's eyes right, and began to gently kick her feet in the water in frustration. The cool liquid lapping smoothly over her skin was delightfully revitalizing, and Ali began to draw again. Just a dab of the eraser there, a smudge more of darkness, and voila! Jim was Jim again. She leaned back and smiled at her drawing. It was quite accurate, her main goal in such sketches. There was no point in pretending Hobbs didn't have a scar across his cheekbone or that Rachel wasn't a bit overweight. That was what made these people so interesting—they were real. If she wanted perfect subjects for her art, she would've gone to those engagement parties and drawn the nobility, with their beautiful skin and clothes and figures. But the dock's inhabitants were just…more…alive. And Ali liked that.

Her next sketch…what to draw? She couldn't leave now, she had just gotten comfortable. Ali looked out over the ocean and her eyes began to mist. Her heart knew what to do, and her hands followed her commands, flying over the page with quick, deft strokes. She stared out over the waters and her soul went with her gaze. It traveled over the waves, dreamily soaring in the clear blue sky with the serene clouds, to unknown places where she could be free. What was beyond these waters that had been a fence on her life in Port Royal? She could only imagine, and imagine she did. Another life, full of adventure and the salty spray of the ocean, filled her mind. All the while her hand was moving across the sketchbook, unceasing, as were her hopes.

"That's really good," Rachel said over her shoulder. Ali gasped in shock. She had been so intensely focused on her drawing that she hadn't known she was there. Her hand jumped across the page, smearing her drawing slightly. Damn it, she had liked that sketch!

"Thanks," Ali said, trying to erase the damage. It was no use—she was simply obliterating the drawing further. Rachel smiled at her and returned to Cameron, who was waiting by the sidelines. Irritated by both Rachel (although she was only trying to be nice) and her own silliness (why had she reacted so horribly?), Ali attempted to redraw the ocean. But the magic was gone now. It was time to leave the dock, as much as she hated to. Once her focus was gone, the mysterious charm disappeared as well, and she had to go. Trying to stay only further aggravated her, because she would become extremely unproductive and thus waste her time. Sighing again, Ali packed up her things and started towards the Peterson household. She had been gone for two or three hours.

* * *

Ali found her footsteps leading her away from the Peterson household. She couldn't return so soon after an argument—she simply wasn't ready. Ali paused by the mansion for a second. It really was quite a pretty house, with charmingly bright flowers and lush green grass out front. The red bricks on her driveway complimented the pale yellow building. Elegant windows, an oak tree, and fancy railings that led to the door all contributed to the false atmosphere of happiness.

The truth was the Peterson mansion had once been a happy place. Her father and her mother were deeply in love with one another. Servant gossip, which Ali often eavesdropped on, said Lady Peterson was like the morning sunrise—radiant and vivid. Perhaps that was why Ali loved sunrises so much. They reminded her of a caring, warm woman who would hold her when she was sad and smile at her lovingly.

Ali didn't remember much of the funeral…how old was she? Six, she believed. The whole ceremony was a blur of confusion, nobles in dark clothing offering their condolences, and tears. Everything from her mother's death to her seventh birthday was a dazed fog in which details couldn't be firmly determined. She never saw her father smile again. And he who was once doting became unbearably strict, determined to raise his child into a proper lady as if to prove to the pitying others that he could do it alone.

While her thoughts wandered, she continued moving towards Elizabeth's house. The two girls had been friends ever since they were younger, both having lost a mother at early ages and unwilling to fit into the conformity. In a world of frills and dolls and tea parties, Lizzie and Ali wanted to learn about pirates and sailing and play with the boys. Tomboys, that was the word. Lizzie had even become good friends with the blacksmith's apprentice, Will Turner. They were engaged to be wed now.

"Hello, Miss Peterson," the butler greeted Ali as she entered. "Here to see Miss Swann again? Yes, she is upstairs in her room. You may go ahead." He bowed, and Ali nodded her thanks to him. "Good day, Miss Peterson."

Ali ascended the stylish stairway and knocked gently on Lizzie's door before going into the bedroom. She regretted her hasty decision not to wait for a response when she saw Will Turner, the blacksmith, hurriedly pulling apart from what had obviously been a kiss with cheeks aflame. Lizzie, too, was blushing. Ali stood there, gaping, and felt the blood rising as well. This was a tad bit awkward.

"I—I'm sorry." Ali said in embarrassment, slowly backing out of the door. "I didn't mean to—I—I'll just, err…leave now."

"Ali, stop being silly." Lizzie rose from her position and pulled her best friend back into the room. Will and Ali exchanged the proper greetings as society demanded, but the uncomfortable feelings had not left the room. "What is it that you wanted?"

"I have to get back to work, Miss Swa—Elizabeth. I'll see you on Sunday. Good day to you, Miss Peterson." Will bowed himself out of the room, taking the tension with him. As soon as he was out of sight, Ali started grinning slyly. She would've burst out laughing if she were certain Will wouldn't have heard.

"Did my virgin eyes just witness such an atrocity? Oh, they are stained, corrupted, RUINED!" Ali cried dramatically, throwing a hand to her heart in a teasing manner.

"Stop being so immature, Ali!" Elizabeth cried, exasperated but amused. "We're engaged! We have a right to kiss. And if you would've knocked, you wouldn't have—"

"Ahh, but I did knock." Ali retorted.

"But you didn't wait for the response. If your innocent soul has been darkened, it is due to your own impatience and bad manners. What is it that you want, Ali?" Elizabeth asked again. "Will and I were having a good time, and now you made him leave!"

"A _very _good time," Ali said mockingly, laying a delicate stress upon the word. Lizzie sat up in indignation and promptly threw a pillow at her best friend, which was easily blocked. "I was wondering if you could tell me the story of the medallion again."

"That's all you wanted?" Elizabeth cried out in fake frustration. "You interrupted my afternoon for that?" Seeing her best friend's eager nod, Lizzie sighed and complied with the request. Ali was a sucker for adventure stories, and listened with rapt attention.

Ali had heard this story over 30 times, but was never bored of it. The fact that it was true only made it more exciting. When she closed her eyes, she could imagine it. In her brain's eye she saw the evil pirate skeletons, the dashing rescuer (she couldn't picture Will Turner as a dashing rescuer. It was unheard of. He was Will Turner, the humble blacksmith. Nice, yes, but dashing?), the sea rocking her to and fro in a ship, and the treasure. Ali sighed wistfully, and reopened her eyes as the tale ended. Such stories helped her escape from her world.

"What was it like?" Ali asked dreamily. "Being on a ship with pirates?"

"Well, I suppose it was frightening, but really quite thrilling at the same time," Elizabeth answered practically. "But I was rescued." These last words had their own dreamy quality. Ali could tell her friend was thinking of Will.

"And I bet that was 'really quite thrilling' too," Ali replied wickedly.

"You know, one day, Alianne Peterson, someone is going to get so mad at one of your smart comments that they'll want their revenge," Lizzie said in mock anger. She didn't mind the teasing, but she knew other nobles did. "They'll probably err…shave off your hair while you sleep! And it would serve you right." The one feature Ali was fond of was her hair—thick, shiny, and luxuriously soft. This was probably the worst punishment Lizzie could think of inflicting upon her best friend.

But surprisingly, Ali didn't laugh at this. Au contraire, she had a thoughtful, planning expression on. "You, Elizabeth Swann, are a bloody genius!" Ali cried suddenly, her face lighting up. Elizabeth looked at her inquiringly.

"Alright, you know how you said you would help me in whatever way possible to escape from this hellhole?" Ali asked, an intense fire burning in her eyes. Elizabeth nodded warily.

"Do you still hold to your word on that?"

"What is it that you're planning to do?" Lizzie asked hesitantly.  
"DO YOU STILL HOLD TO YOUR WORD ON THAT?" Ali asked again, urgency in her voice. Lizzie bit her lip nervously, considering the consequences, and then nodded.

Ali's face broke into a smile. "Good. Well, what I want to do is barter passage to another island and try my luck there." Lizzie rolled her eyes. This plan had come up many times in their conversations, but it was always put down.

"I know this, Ali, but you'll get raped or something on the way there! And where are you going to go? You're a noble, and a woman at that. The pirates would simply take advantage of you, and steal your money. Or worse, they'll take you and ransom you to Lord Peterson after taking advantage of you and stealing your money. It's not safe and you can't go." Lizzie stated realistically.

"Ahh, but what if I wasn't a woman, Miss Swann?" Ali asked mysteriously, with the air of a magician revealing his trick.

"Oh and how would you accomplish that?" Lizzie taunted. "Just change sexes as you please? I'm sorry, Ali, but unless you've hidden something very well from me, there isn't a way to simply 'not be a woman.'"

"No, I didn't mean it that way!" Ali cried in vexation at Lizzie's stupidity. "Think, Elizabeth, if you are capable of such a feat!"

Abruptly Lizzie caught on to the plan. Her words echoed in her brain. _"They'll probably shave your hair off while you sleep! And it would serve you right."_ Her eyes widened.

"Oh, but Ali, your hair!" Lizzie cried. How could her best friend stand to lose that glorious feature?

"I'm not going to shave the whole thing off, Lizzie!" Ali laughed. "That's where you come in. I'm going to need to buy some regular clothing, baggy like, and a hat. What I need you to do is help fix my hair. I'll hide most of it under the hat, but I need you to help me. Please Lizzie? You promised." Lizzie opened her mouth to say no, but then remembered—she did promise. Resigned, she nodded, to Ali's delight.


	3. The Espiritu

CHAPTER THREE

It was almost one thirty in the morning. All of Port Royal's respectable inhabitants were asleep—all but Ali and Elizabeth, if they were considered respectable. Currently the two noblewomen were in Lizzie's bedroom, in front of the mirror.

Ali most certainly didn't look like a noblewoman. Her clothes, kindly purchased by Miriam (Ali had offered to give her money for her troubles, but Miriam refused), disguised all the scarce hints of womanhood in Ali. The shirts and pants were dully colored, worn from use but made of good, sturdy cotton. She was currently showing off her new boots (made of comfortable leather) to Elizabeth, who was rather skeptical about the whole thing.

"Do I look somewhat male-ish?" Ali asked, twisting and turning in front of the mirror.

"It's actually rather frightening how sexless you look," Lizzie confessed, yawning. And it was true—with the majority of her hair pinned firmly into place and covered by the cap, Ali looked like she could be a male. A scrawny, feminine boy, but a boy all the same. Elizabeth took immense pride in the hairstyle of this "boy." It had taken her the better part of two hours to secure the red masses of hair on top of Ali's head. The challenge also lay in placing the hat in a fashion that looked both natural and covered up adequately. The result was quite convincing.

"Ali," Elizabeth began seriously. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Never before in her elegant, superior life had Elizabeth felt so stupid for talking.

* * *

"I need to get to Tortuga." Ali stated bluntly to the sailor in what she hoped was a good imitation of the commoners' accent. He leered at her, his teeth disgustingly yellow and his breath reeking of beer. These men weren't like Timothy, or Cameron, or even Mr. Hobbs. For fear of being recognized, Ali hadn't gone to the dock to look for a ride. If she was found, and returned to her father…well, even in her imagination Lord Peterson's reaction was unpleasant. So Ali had left the Swanns household and walked towards one of the coves of Port Royal. She had passed many taverns on the way, and the inhabitants of those buildings told her she wasn't with the nobility anymore. Lizzie's paranoia about rape seemed more reasonable now. Ali nervously readjusted the strap of her pack on her shoulder and checked to see if the hat was still in place.

"Aye, lad, we can do that." The man said slyly. His voice was as oily and dirty as he. Greasy haired and soiled, the whole atmosphere around him was unclean. "But what's in it for us? We honest seamen see no reason to accept another mouth to feed when we're already so errr…short on certain supplies."

"I can pay you."

"Ahhh, straight to business, eh?" The sailor (and pirate, as Ali was almost certain of) smiled. The crew behind him chuckled darkly as well. "Alright, how much?"

Ali fumbled in a satchel tied to her waist. She pulled out two shillings.

"Two shillings?" The man she was bargaining with roared with laughter. The men joined him, leaving Ali feeling quite stupid and wrong footed. Maybe Elizabeth was right. Maybe it was too risky. Maybe she was making a big mistake. "Boy, two shillings would get you from here to the dock."

Ali bit her lip at this knowledge. This was going to be expensive and dangerous. Hell, she had wanted an adventure, hadn't she? Now was no time to turn back. "How much do you want then?"

"Oh, let's see...fifteen sounds about right t'me."

Ali opened her mouth in surprise. The price was outrageous. "Eight," she said recklessly. There was no way she was going to waste fifteen shillings on this.

"Thirteen."

"Ten." There was a pause, and then the man nodded, acquiescing to her price.

"Ten it is," He said. Ali had the uncomfortable feeling that ten was still too much for a simple journey to Tortuga, but she didn't complain. "Welcome aboard _The Espiritu_, Mr…?"

"Peters," Ali replied coolly. "Alan Peters."


	4. Superstitions and Money

**DISCLAIMER:** (sorry, I forgot the first three—but better late than never) I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or any of the characters affiliated with it. And this goes for the whole story :)

**A/N:** thanks so much for reading and reviewing AquariusClarinetus! It's my first fanfic, and encouragement is much appreciated.

CHAPTER FOUR

It was a brutally cold, foggy night and Ali could especially feel the effects of the weather as she was rowed towards the Espiritu. The waters were dark and still, adding to the mysterious atmosphere. As they neared the ship, Ali shivered—either from the cold or at the sight of the ship.

The Espiritu was a sight indeed, a looming mass of shadows against the moonlit sky. Its sails billowed as a breeze blew by, and the sense of foreboding and dislike grew in Ali. It was odd—she was normally not superstitious and considered such things silly and foolish.

"This is our stop, Mr. Peters," the captain said as the rowboat rocked to a stop. Ali nodded and moved to climb the ladder on the side of the ship's hull. The tiny vessel swayed even more wildly as Ali stood up. She gave a small (very feminine) shriek of fear as she rapidly lost her balance and sat down immediately to prevent the boat from toppling.

"How daft are ye, lad?" The captain exclaimed, half in amazement at her stupidity and half in anger. "Ye don't make sudden moves when on the water. D'ye wants to be tipped?" Ali shook her head obediently, mollified and appreciative that her cover hadn't been blown. Now was not the time for her trademark smart comebacks.

Slowly, cautiously, Ali eased herself off the hard wooden seat and stood. The boat shook a little under the shift and caused the wallet at her side to jingle as the coins clinked together.

"Easy, boy," the pirate breathed. He was staring at her wallet in a most uncomfortable fashion. Ali hurriedly stepped onto the bottom rung of the later to get away from that gaze and, at the captain's affirmative nod scrambled upwards as fast as she could.

The ship was as enticing on deck as off. Ali could feel the slimy mess of a floor sliding on her boots. In the darkness, it was impossible to determine what was causing that slimy feeling, but Ali didn't want to know. The men, as grimy and dirty as the floor, were already on deck, gathered in a tight semi circle of hidden eyes and unapproving mouths. Their gaze seemed to bore inside her, and she became even more aware of the money that rattled at her side with each movement. Snitches of muttered conversations floated to Ali's ears, and although she couldn't hear the exact words, the tones were unpleasant.

_Stop being silly._ She thought to herself, drawing in a deep breath and releasing it. _Now is not the time for paranoia._

"First Mate Crowe?" She heard the captain bark from behind her. His presence was quite a shock to her, as he had ascended the ladder so quietly, she hadn't heard him coming. "Show Mr. Peters the ship." He smiled in a sinister way at Crowe in what he thought was an inconspicuous manner, but Ali caught the motion. For some reason, the deep unrest inside her intensified at this carefree exchange.

Crowe was a silent, muscled giant of a man. He beckoned to Ali with a grunt and she followed as he led away and the crew returned to work. "You'll be stayin' here," he rumbled, pointing to a small, cramped room containing a single bed with yellowing sheets. It was not a pleasant sight. The ship lurched into movement, and Ali stumbled, feeling the coins jingle once more. When she regained her balance, Ali realized her guide was already walking away and hurried after him.

He led her throughout the ship, to the dining room, kitchen, and the bathroom (a hole in the ship). She didn't remember quite where everything was, though. Her feet and her brain straggled and dragged. Ali was thoroughly exhausted, having stayed up the entire night, and was appreciative when they finally returned to her bedroom. Crowe was walking away when Ali remembered an urgent question.

"Wait!" She called, turning away from her destination (the bed). "What if the ship is damaged and we have to abandon it? Where do I go in case of emergency?" She realized with embarrassment how Lizzie-ish she sounded. _Better safe than sorry._

"Pull that rope there," Crowe pointed gruffly at his left, to an intricate network of cords intertwined. The one he was talking about was especially thick and had a white string bound around it. Ali made a quick note in her mind. "It should drop a rowboat. Oars are to your right." He left brusquely after that simple statement. _Rope to the left, oars to the right._

Fatigued, Ali turned to go inside her room. Oddly enough the door was still open. She yawned and proceeded inside the doorway. She hadn't walked over five steps when a sharp, sudden pain exploded somewhere in her head and everything went black.


	5. Daft

CHAPTER FIVE

**A/N: **Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! It makes me feel very special. : ) I'll try and live up to the praise.

Damn, her head hurt. Someone had set fire to the back of her skull—a most unpleasant feeling. Ali opened her eyes weakly, and let out a little moan of pain. Where was she? The bed she was on was hard and stank of spoiled milk.

"Awake, are we, Mr. Peters?" A voice called from across the tiny room. Ali tried to sit up, only to discover that her hands and feet were bound with thick rope. The raw cord bit into her wrists and ankles, and she gave up the attempt to sit, her head throbbing.

She knew that man! The one who had talked…it was all coming back now. He was the captain of the Espiritu. But why the hell was she tied up? And why did her head hurt so much?

Ali shut her eyes, trying to block out the pain and focus on her memories. _Oars on your right, rope on your left_. It must've happened when she returned to her room, after the little tour…someone had knocked her out? But why?

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," The captain said, pacing in little circles across the room. Ali was so confused, what was going on? "First, ye agree to a tremendously over expensive price to get to Tortuga. Daft. Then ye explicitly flaunt yer inexperience at sea. Daft. Then ye alert the whole crew of yer full wallet. Daft. Ye were beggin' to be robbed, Mr. Peters."

So this was all about the money? Her head was clearing, although it still hurt. She moved her bound hands over to her waist and discovered, sure enough, that her wallet was gone. The captain was right. She had been stupid, careless, and sloppy.

The man was smiling mockingly at her. He had stopped his pacing to watch her movements. "Aye, Mr. Peters. It's not there, is it?" He was still grinning, and fury rose within Ali.

"Captain," a crew member cracked open the bedroom door and stuck his head inside. "We're about to reach Isla de Elba." The captain nodded his acknowledgment of this fact, and the crew member left.

"Yer funds, Mr. Peters, are about to get us a very good time." The captain smirked, turning to Ali. "Ye had quite a load of money in that little satchel of yours."

The captain spun to the door, opened it, and barked to the deck: "Crowe!" The hulk of a first mate came ambling to the call. "Watch over Mr. Peters, will ye?" Crowe nodded coldly. "We could earn some money off him…maybe in the slave trade?" Crowe smiled knowingly at this comment.

"Make sure he doesn't escape. We will return tomorrow morning, eh?" Crowe nodded again as the captain left, cackling wickedly.

* * *

About three hours later, Ali lay on the bed, turned away from the first mate. Crowe was sitting right outside the room in a little chair he had drawn up, his feet propped up on a table. She could hear the man greedily slurping bottles of rum. He probably drank about five of them. Ali rested silently, wordlessly, biding her time. It couldn't be much longer now.

While waiting, she let her thoughts wander. They strayed across memories of her childhood, her mother and father, and Lizzie. She distinctly recalled the first day she had met Lizzie. She had been about six years old.

_Ali walked into the room full of pink and light blue frills and ribbons. Seven pairs of wide, innocent eyes watched her approach. "Stay here, Alianne," her father had said sternly to her. She had entered obediently, frightened out of her wits. It was a gathering, one her father wanted to attend, and she had to mingle with the other noble children during it. The little girls, all prim and proper with fashionable hair and dress, were having a tea party, or something of the sort. _

_Whispers followed her entry. The gossipers were not subtle—leaning over, cupping their hands over their mouths, to tell their neighbor all the secrets about the newcomer. The subject of such talk felt out of place and alienated. _

_"Her mother died," one little girl said quite audibly. Ali felt her lip tremble. "There's no one to raise her up now. Her father, I heard, is quite a failure at it. She's supposedly really wild and ill mannered." All the little girls looked up at Ali at this new piece of information. Her cheeks reddened, and Ali was sure that she would start to cry soon. _

_"Katherine Munroe, how can you talk about ill manners? You're the one spreading awful rumors about others without any proof behind it! I won't listen to such a gossip a moment longer." One little girl, dark haired and eyed, and especially fancily dressed, leapt up from the tea party circle. She tossed her curls defiantly and stuck her tongue out at the scandalized Katherine. "Let's go." This was directed at Ali, who gladly accepted her savior's acknowledgement. _

_Once out of the dreaded tea party room, the little girl turned to Ali. "My name's Elizabeth—Lizzie—what's yours?" _

A loud, obnoxious snore roused her from her memory. Ali blinked twice, and rolled over slowly to face Crowe. He was sound asleep, drunkenly so, and had probably been for the past twenty minutes. A bottle of rum dangled dangerously from his hand. Now was the time to act, before anyone came back.

Ali sat up in the bed with care. If she woke him, everything would be over. She had this single chance, this one opportunity, to escape. The snores continued, and Ali breathed a sigh of relief. She swung her legs, still bound, onto the side of the bed. The man was still sleeping.

Slowly, quietly, Ali stood up. Her legs wobbled a bit as her head spun, so she closed her eyes. When she had steadied herself, she started the long walk to the door. Step by step she waddled to the door. The ropes around her ankles cut deeply into her skin, rubbing it raw. Every few steps Ali paused; making sure the man was still asleep, before continuing.

After a few painstaking moments that felt like an eternity, Ali reached Crowe. She carefully tried to remove the rum bottle from his hands, but Crowe wouldn't let go. Ali sighed, and gently pried each finger away from the glass container. She had just gotten the bottle when a strong gust of wind blew across the sea and slammed the door she had exited from shut.

_Shit._ Crowe awoke, blinking his eyes blearily, obviously searching for the sound that had woken him. He looked incomprehensively at Ali before realizing she had almost gotten free, and giving a roar of rage.

Ali raised the bottle up high above her head, and brought it down with all her might across the huge man's head before he could rise. That roar of rage was never finished, being cut short by her action. Crowe slumped back into the chair, knocked out by the bottle. Broken shards of glass lay all around him.

Panting, the girl dropped what remained of the rum container. She had come awfully close to being caught again. Ali picked up a sharp piece of glass, winking in the moonlight, carefully, and began to cut away at her binds.

It was awkward work. She had to saw away at a weird angle, and cut herself accidentally numerous times. But at last, after about five minutes, the ropes fell away from her wrists, and she massaged the tender skin a bit before beginning at her feet. When she was free from all such cords, Ali decided to finish off the escape plan.

_Oars on your right, rope on your left._

**A/N:** Once again, thanks so much for reading and reviewing and keep doing so! I will never get sick of the compliments, trust me.


	6. Decisions, Decisions

CHAPTER SIX

Aboard the Black Pearl, which was safely docked, Captain Jack Sparrow was deep in thought. He paced in circles in his room, gently stroking his braided beard. The sounds of the decorational beads clinking at the end of his plaited hair seemed louder in the silent room. He continued to pace for about fifteen more minutes.

"Captain?" A man asked tentatively from his seat at the wooden table. A piece of wrinkled parchment lay sprawled in front of him, with a messy sketch and circles and arrows scrawled across it. Upon closer examination, the paper could be identified as a map—but a rather sad excuse for one. "D'ye have a decision?"

Jack spun around and approached the map. He picked up a pencil from the table and made the man scoot out of the way.

"So one more time then, eh Greene?" Jack didn't wait for the man's response and starting sketching out a route on the parchment. "We are here." He put a big X on a small island, labeled Sans Antoine, in the approximate center of the map. "The last time we saw the _Shadow _was…what?"

"Four hours ago," Greene replied. He stood up from his chair and came to join Jack at the table. "They took off to the northwest, towards Tortuga." He took the pencil from Jack and illustrated in a little boat, labeling it the _Shadow_, and from this drew an arrow pointing to the top right hand corner of the paper.

"Aye…aye…" Jack murmured, pondering again. He stared at the map, at Sans Antoine and its neighbor, Calyptras. His dark gaze then wandered over the rest of the page, at Tortuga, about 35 miles away, to the north, and Port Royal to the south. Where would the _Shadow_ most likely be heading? It could all be a trick, going northwest simply to confuse him and his crew…

"Captain?" Greene prompted again, hesitantly.

"Get the ship ready," Jack replied, slowly. "Hoist anchor in ten minutes." He then turned and exited his room, in his trademark swaying swagger.

"But Captain!" Greene cried as Jack left. "Where are you going? The crew's all aboard, we can leave right now! Why wait ten minutes?"

"Because, Greene," Jack said without turning around. "Ten minutes is just enough time to get some rum aboard this ship."

* * *

Ali's arms were burning. Each muscle screamed in protest as she pushed the oars backward once again. She didn't know how long she had been rowing, or how far she had gone. All she knew was that if she stopped now, she'd probably never regain the willpower to continue. And if she stopped, chances were the _Espiritu_ would catch up to her—something she didn't desire at all.

Through the clear night, Ali could see the outline of a dark mass of an island about 100 yards out. She was almost there. The blisters on her hands had popped a while back and were now bleeding freely. Not too long ago she had ripped off a part of her shirt and wrapped the cloth around the wounds to try and stop the blood, but it did little good. The blisters, the pain in her arm muscles, and her headache combined were enough to drive her crazy. _Just a little _longer_, Ali._

The fatigue was getting to her. The crew of the _Espiritu_ would certainly expect her escape to the nearest island, so even if she got there she couldn't rest. Daybreak was approaching. The captain and crew would be returning soon, to find Crowe knocked out and the captive gone. Ali didn't know how she was going to get off the island, but that wasn't what she needed to worry about just yet. She'd take this a step at a time, and right now Ali's problem was simply reaching the island without fainting.

As she neared the island, she saw a looming ship with black sails docked at a cove. Her mind, although slow from lack of sleep, was racing. If she could barter passage on this ship, and get away from this speck of land, perhaps the Espiritu would give up looking for her. They would never figure out where she went! But...Ali remembered suddenly, and the memory brought a bitter taste to her mouth. She had no bargaining tools—her money had been taken already, and she had little else to offer.

That left Ali with a decision to make. She could stay on the island, sleep her little heart out for probably at most six hours, and then accept capture by the Espiritu. They would probably sell her as a slave, and she would spend the rest of her life working ceaselessly. Not quite the adventure Ali had in mind. Or…or, Ali could secretly board this ship, the one with the black sails, and stay hidden until their next stop. She could then leave the boat and try and return to Port Royal.

It wasn't a hard choice. Within minutes Ali had rowed to the front of the ship and stopped her rowboat there. Once her boat had come to a complete halt, she stood up carefully, and raised one arm to the rungs of the ladder. She had just transferred one foot onto the steps when suddenly the ship she was on jerked into motion, causing her to shriek as her balance was thrown off. Had she not kept a firm hold on the rungs, she would've suffered the same fate as the rowboat she had used for escape—a good smashing. All that remained of the faithful little wooden vessel was a few splinters, floating in the ocean waves.

Ali climbed up the rungs and spotted an unoccupied room through a window. While crawling through the hole, the ship shook again, causing Ali to fall most ungainly into the bedroom. Her hat fell off when she tumbled in, and she quickly grabbed it and repositioned it on her head. The last thing she wanted was to be found and raped. Ali sat there, looking at her surroundings.

The room was plain and practical, with a small wooden desk in a corner and a closet to the side. The desk had some papers atop of it, and Ali cautiously crept towards these. She found a map, and had just begun leafing through these other papers when she heard sounds coming from outside the door.

_Shit!_ Ali dropped the papers hurriedly and darted towards the closet. She had just safely hidden herself when the door opened and a man strolled inside. She couldn't see much through the little crack in the closet hinges, but her instincts told her to stay hidden. And stay hidden she did. As a matter of fact, she, Alianne Peterson, daughter of Lord Peterson, fell into an exhausted sleep, huddled at the floor of a closet in a ship.


	7. The Closet

**Disclaimer: **(ds-klmr) _n._ A repudiation or denial of responsibility or connection.

I don't own POTC. That's why its here.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ali's back, so used to cushiony pillows and feather beds, hurt like hell. She blearily opened her eyes to the darkness of night that surrounded her, and gave a tiny moan of pain. Her head ached, her arms ached, her back ached and her stomach was protesting from either the rocking motion of the sea or hunger. Or both. She picked herself up gingerly from the huddle she had been on the dirty wooden floor of the small closet and stretched out her limbs. She must've slept through the entire day, and her mouth felt dry from lack of food and water.

She pressed her ear gently against the sliding door of the closet. Just outside, a man was snoring slightly, obviously asleep. She slid the door open and gently tiptoed out of the room, intent on satisfying the burning emptiness inside her stomach. The floor creaked a bit as she walked quietly, making her wince. After darting nervous glances as the dark figure on the bed, she determined he was still asleep and continued on her way.

Opening the door to the room, Ali crept outside, her head pounding from the cold. The hallway she was in led to the main deck up the stairs or to some other bedrooms further down. She decided not to risk being seen by whoever was steering on deck, and kept going down the hallway. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, and she could spy the gleam of some cutlery three rooms further.

Once inside the kitchen, Ali faintly admired its cleanliness, something she hadn't expected from pirates. That thought registered briefly before she found the food. Never before had pampered, spoiled, wealthy Alianne Peterson experienced true hunger. Since no one was present, Ali bade farewell to etiquette and dug into the food. There was a tidbit of meat, salted pork, left on a sideboard that she quickly consumed. She found a barrel of water, clean and refreshing, a mug, and some bread and butter. Inside a wicker basket in the corner of the big room she discovered some oranges. When Ali had eaten her fill, she grabbed a few oranges and a loaf of bread. With these supplies and a full stomach, Ali returned to her closet to feast further.

* * *

Closets truly were very boring, nondescript rooms. There was little space inside one, the air was musty, the lighting limited, and the activities even more so. Ali, unable to sleep, amused herself through the night by thoughts of her childhood. Every now and then she ate a few oranges, or took a few bites of bread.

She remembered the first time she had been grounded by her father. Before this fateful date, Alianne Peterson had been a generally obedient daughter, shocked into silence by what had happened to her mother. There had been the occasional skirmishes in which she had been scolded (mostly by the maids) about hanging around the Turner boy and on the deck with the dirty sailors, but never anything major.

She was what, eleven? No, ten and a half, at the time. It had been Emily Clearwater's birthday party, and she had been invited out of sheer courtesy. Emily, a friend of Katharine Monroe, was unlikely to have asked for Ali's presence without some parental persuasion. And thus she, decked out in a pretty yellow dress and fancily decorated curls, had arrived with a present for Emily.

The other girls had been irritating Ali all day long. It was nothing she hadn't experienced before, just casual rolling of eyes or sighs that were, all the same, annoying. Elizabeth had been sick that day and unable to attend, leaving Ali alienated and alone. She remembered distinctly Katharine's altering of game rules to benefit herself, or to make Ali lose. She could handle such petty actions.

It had been about in the afternoon time—the girls were outside, having an ice cream picnic in Emily's beautiful backyard. It was getting rather hot, and tempers were boiling along with the weather. Ali still could recall the exact comment made by Katharine.

The girls had been chatting about an upcoming summer party that would be thrown by the Monroes, and what they were planning to wear there. Most of the little ladies were simply dithering about their newest gown or hairdresser until Katharine, obviously emboldened by Ali's lack of reaction in earlier taunts, had said:

"Well, I heard my parents talking about how _some_ nobles were only invited because of an obligation. They said that this noble had gone to waste since the death of his spouse, and that he is utterly ashaming to the rest of us." Katharine had smirked at this not so subtle insult, and the rest of the girls had tittered.

Ali smiled back politely, masking the rage inside her at the insult at—of all people, her poor father! He had suffered enough from the death of his wife, and to have others judge him? She put aside her ice cream gently, unfinished, and then--!

With a loud shriek the other girls drew back as one as Ali jumped atop of Katharine and, pulling a fist back, punched her squarely in the face. Katharine was screaming at the assault, her nose bleeding rather rapidly, and had grabbed at Ali's hair, tugging it. Ignoring the pain on her scalp, Ali hit the girl again and again, wrestling with her in the grass. She was pulled back by Lady Clearwater, who had sent her home immediately, appalled at such behavior.

A smile came to Ali's face huddled in the ship's closet at the whimpering, bleeding, grass stained Katharine Monroe limping away to go clean up. It had, she felt, been worth it.

* * *

Ali had fallen asleep sometime in the night, for the next morning she heard the sounds of a man waking. He yawned rather loudly, and muttered something to himself that involved the word "bloody" quite a few times. Suddenly, Ali became aware that his unsteady footsteps were headed towards the closet.

Shit! She thought as she hurriedly got up and glanced around the tiny space quickly. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to go, but she might as well try. The door opened just as she threw herself behind a couple of shirts hanging on the rack.

Jack hadn't slept well, due mainly to the lack of food from the night before. Their current cook, Roland, wasn't very current anymore—in fact, he was dead from a little conflict in which the kitchens were raided only four days ago. Anamaria had taken over the culinary duties, and it was a kind statement to say she wasn't very adept at it. The crew had been suffering from stomachaches for the duration of the time. He would've liked to switch the job to someone else, but there was no one available. The _Black Pearl_ had been a bit short of people ever since their encounter with the _Shadow_.

He was so tired he almost missed the pair of pants standing by themselves behind his layer of shirts. The boots, he was almost positive, wriggled in the sunlight—either that or the food really had been poisoned. Moving the shirts out of his way, he discovered a boy hidden behind them, with a dirty face and a scared look in his eyes. _Damn,_ he thought. _A stowaway. _

"ANA!" He bellowed. "GIBBS! GREENE!" This was something they needed to discuss.

Ali, stuck in the corner of a tiny space in which there was no escape, could only stand there, petrified, as she was discovered by pirates. Somewhere, deep deep inside her stunned brain, she appreciated the fact that her hat, pinned on by Elizabeth, had stayed on.

**A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up! I've been awfully busy, and the story kind of faded to second priority. **

**AquariusClarinetus: Thanks so much for reviewing! You have no idea how much it means to me, I really enjoyed your story too. (I haven't read Harry Potter before, and thus am kind of confused, but from what I understood it was good). I'll finish it whenever I can, I promise. **

**Cappygal: Yeah, I had a bad case of writer's block during chapter three…thanks for the constructive criticism. I hope you find this chapter more pleasing. : ). **

**Please R and R!**


	8. The Black Pearl

**Disclaimer: POTC is not mine…most unfortunately. But Ali is!**

**A/N: Thank you so much, AquariusClarinetus, for reading and reviewing. I was seriously considering giving up this story because it seemed like no one was reading it, but at least I have one faithful reviewer! You have no idea what it means to me. Thanks again, and keep it up! And for the rest of you, please please please read and review!**

CHAPTER EIGHT

While waiting for his crew members, Jack took this time to examine the boy. The stowaway was pressed into the very corner of Jack's closet, trembling slightly. His face and clothes were dirty and dried blood caked the hem of a sleeve. On closer inspection the lad's face was surprisingly feminine, his eyes large and wide and a deep steel gray, almost black, dilated from fear, and framed by long dark eyelashes. Every feature on his face was delicate, almost fragilely so. There was a light dusting of freckles across his petite nose, and his skin was rather pale from lack of sun. He had a stubborn set to his chin.

The most amazing part of this boy was not his feminine look, however. It was the hair. Even in the dim light, the boy's hair (or what you could see of it from under an absurdly oversized hat), was a pure red. There was no hint of orange present, though a tint of brown came into play towards the back. Jack could've sworn the hair was dyed, but for some reason it seemed to fit on this boy, extraordinary though it was. There was no doubt in Jack's head that this blazing hair was natural, though on anyone else it wouldn't have been.

Jack's observations of the boy were cut short by the entrance of Gibbs and Ana.

"Bloody hell Jack, my shift was just about to end," Gibbs muttered unhappily. "Why've ye delayed my long deserved rest so?" Ana didn't say anything—she had a way of glaring at a man that made him realize exactly what she felt.

"Come on out of there, lad," Jack said in what he hoped was a gentle way as he pulled the shaking boy out by the arm. "We have a visitor," Jack told Ana and Gibbs, gesturing with his free hand towards the boy.

Greene chose this precise moment to fling open Jack's door and burst inside. "Captain," he cried, exasperated. "There's been a problem with the coordinates, I don't think they're correct, I really don't have time for a meeting, and could you just call someone less important?" Jack chuckled at Ana's expression. The woman really had no toleration for Greene, whom Jack admitted could be a bit pompous and overdramatic at times.

"There IS no one less important," Ana muttered nastily. Luckily Greene did not hear this harsh comment, as he was ogling at the boy.

"A stowaway!" Greene screeched, pointing an accusing finger at the boy.

"Yes, Greene, that's what I was calling you all for—to help me decide what to do with the boy," Jack explained slowly.

"What to do?" Greene said incredulously. "Isn't it obvious? Make him walk the plank!"

A low growl came from both Ana and Gibbs, who had started off as stowaways on various other ships as well. Jack chuckled nervously. "Well, let's not be so hasty," he replied. "Call in the crew, Ana; we need to hold a meeting. And kindly take the boy outside, luv, he doesn't need to be present."

Anamaria's mouth dropped open at the absurdity of her absence at such a meeting. Jack sighed and pulled her away. The woman had no subtlety.

"Alright, Anamaria, I know ye aren't very fond of me right now for makin' ye baby-sit the lad during such an important meeting, but I need someone to watch him. And I don't trust anyone else to treat him kindly, savvy?" Jack murmured.

Ana tried to speak again, but Jack cut her off. "I already know what yer vote is for the boy, alright, pet? I'll make sure yer vote gets put in, but as of now, I need you to watch him. And that's an order, luv." Jack turned away from the seething woman and gave a call to the decks above. "Sailors! Come below for a moment, we've got something to discuss."

Ana sighed, giving in to the inevitable, and dragged the boy by the arm away to another room.

* * *

Never before had Ali been so scared in her life. The woman, Ana, whom was 'baby-sitting' her, did not seem too happy. Ana was currently staring at the wall between her and the captain's room, as if her gaze would pierce through it if she looked hard enough.

"What's your name, boy?" The Anamaria woman asked gruffly, abruptly. It startled Ali, and she nervously readjusted her hat.

"Alan Peters, ma'am."

"Not ma'am. Never ma'am," Anamaria replied, snorting at the idea of such a proper title while still staring at the wall. "Anamaria."

Ali nodded softly. The next few minutes passed in silence and were filled with tension. The only sounds in the room were those of the debaters next door. Ali strained to make out what the people were saying, and whether or not she'd be left to die. The darkness and dampness of the room she was currently in didn't help her mood, and she shivered in the cold.

After what seemed like an eternity, the captain—Jack, was his name?—came, and beckoned for Ali to follow, which she did wordlessly. Once inside his cabin, now empty of debating crewmembers, he turned to her.

"What's yer name, lad?" His back was to her, and she couldn't see the expressions on his face. In the dim lighting the captain's dark chocolate eyes seemed to glow from within.

"Alan Peters, sir."

"Captain," he corrected absently. "And how old are you, Mr. Peters?"

"I'm 26, captain." Jack gave a snort of disbelief. The boy was so scrawny and unmuscled—Jack doubted if Alan had even reached puberty yet.

"Where are ye from?"

"Port Royal." _At least this much was true,_ Ali thought to herself.

"Why are ye aboard, Alan?"

"I wanted freedom."

Jack turned around abruptly to face the boy. "And ye assumed, Mr. Peters, that stowing away on a ship could provide ye such a desire?" He raised a floppy hand, pointed in the air. At the boy's nod Jack continued. "Let me inform ye of a fact of life, Mr. Peters. We're pirates. Freedom is limited when yer neck constantly has appointments made with the noose, savvy? This isn't any ordinary merchant ship, boy. Unless yer made of tougher stuff than ye look to be, this life isn't for you."

"Give me a chance," Ali replied softly, lifting her chin slightly. "Let me try, please, sir—captain." Jack leaned in closer to the boy's face and gazed deep into those determined gray eyes, before swinging away again.

"The crew voted on keepin' you on this ship anyway," Jack said casually, ignoring the sigh of relief coming from behind him. "I suppose yer here to stay—but I must warn you, Mr. Peters. If I do not find you suitable for a pirate's life, if you slip up even once…it's back to Port Royal for you."

Ali nodded resolutely. The pirate captain, as she had discovered, had a most amusing way of wavering and swaying—almost a sashay—when he walked, and she found herself giggling inside at the absurdity of this character. This was shaping up to be an exciting adventure after all. At least this crew didn't smell bad and steal her money after knocking her out.

"Welcome aboard the Black Pearl, mate." Jack said, smiling broadly and in doing so, revealed two golden teeth and caused numerous beard decorations to clink together.

"The…Black Pearl?" Ali gaped openly. That was the ship from Elizabeth's stories! If that was truth, then that would mean the man in front of her—the captain of the Black Pearl—would be…Captain Jack Sparrow? She goggled for a moment, open mouthed, before catching herself. This was certainly going to be a better story than Elizabeth's.

**A/N: Okay, once again please read and review! If no one's going to read this story, I see no point in continuing it. Yes, that's a threat…lol, no; I'm probably going to finish no matter what but a review would REALLY be appreciated. Please? **


	9. Captain Jack Sparrow

**Disclaimer: Mouse. Jack. Damn it. **

**A/N: AHHH! YAY so many reviews (well compared to before)! Currently feeling rather felicitous and thus have started the err…ninth? Yes, ninth chapter earlier than I planned on. THANK YOU SO MUCH! Here are some comments.**

**AneleTiger: Oooohhh, so that's what savvy meant! I always thought it stood for, "alright?" or, "are we clear on that?"...that sort of thing. Hehehe, oops. Do you mind if I keep using it that way? Because it just seems like something Jack-Sparrowish…and I can't think of another word to use to express the same thing. : P**

**Shattered-Silence: lol yes, I said ALIANNE couldn't change sexes at will…whoever said anything about you and me ;). About Ali overtaking the culinary duties, I refuse to accept your bet because…errr…I like my money in my pocket instead of yours.**

**Niwrem: I shall try my best not to sentence you to life as a raisin, lol. Thanks for reviewing!**

**AquariusClarinetus: As usual, faithful and encouraging. It means so much to me. **

**PirateLass1963: lol I'm glad you got around your laziness and reviewed. Thanks so much for your encouragement. It's so...umm...encouraging? hehehehe I love my vocabulary.**

CHAPTER NINE

"Ye've heard of it, haven't ye?" Jack grinned at the boy's open amazement. "And, of course, then ye've heard of me—Captain Jack Sparrow?" His tone was so self satisfied that Ali half expected to see him stop and pose for a portrait.

"I imagined you differently," Ali replied seriously, trying to muffle the image inside her head. The man standing in front of her was not quite the scoundrel she had pictured. "I thought you'd be taller."

Jack recoiled visibly at this insult. "Taller, you say? Well, it's not about the size of the boat, Mr. Peters, but how well you sail it, savvy?" The boy had no room to talk about height anyway, being as how he was several inches shorter than Jack. "Quality, not quantity, eh?" Ali nodded sarcastically with raised eyebrows, well aware of the sexual innuendo accompanying these statements. Lizzie had, after all, told her about this man's infatuation with himself.

"Well, Alan, we'd best give ye a tour around this ship, as ye shall be with us for awhile," Jack said. "Come with me to the deck, if ye please."

Ali followed wordlessly behind the man, contemplating what she had just seen. Elizabeth had described Captain Jack Sparrow as 'prettily handsome' and 'wild', which gave Ali the picture of a tall, muscled, blonde haired, and blue eyed man who was a bit on the extreme side—none of which matched up with the actual character. Lizzie had said Jack had a love of rum and a strange sense of humor as well. The Captain Jack Sparrow Ali had just met was dark—haired, eyed, and skinned. He wore his hair and beard in dreadlockish braids, tied with beads and other ornaments at the end. He had a bandanna, a red one, on and a huge hat as well. Indeed, this man would've seemed almost comical, especially with his perpetually drunk strides—if not for his eyes. In those deep pools of shadowy chocolate laid intelligence, accentuated by kohl and long eyelashes.

"This is the deck," Jack said simply when they arrived, kind of embarrassed for pointing out the obvious.

"I know," Ali replied solemnly. "Thank you, though, Captain. I never would have figured it out myself."

Jack leaned in closer to see if the boy was being serious or not. Alan's face was so straight that it was difficult to tell. But yes, the boy's emerald eyes were dancing--sparkling—in his face. At least one crew member had a sense of humor, Jack thought critically, looking for Anamaria.

But wait—something was wrong. Jack clearly remembered how darkly grey and frightened the boy's gaze had been just a few hours ago when he was first discovered. And as of now, there was no denying that Alan's eyes were very, very green. Ali caught Jack's puzzled stare at her eyes and, guessing the reason behind it, decided to explain.

"I have dragon eyes," Ali said, tapping at them.

"What?" Jack asked, confused.  
"Dragon eyes," Ali repeated. It was a story her mother had told her, about how you could predict a dragon's mood by his eyes. When they were dark, Ali had been told, you should never approach a dragon—not that approaching a dragon was a good idea even when their eyes were light. "They change colors with my mood." Jack nodded as if he understood.

"So they're grey when you're afraid," Jack mused.

"Or sad, or annoyed, or angry, or just generally unhappy," Ali interrupted. "And green when I'm alright."

Jack nodded again. "I see." This new boy was just becoming stranger and stranger as time went by. "Well, when yer ready to continue, we shall be on our way."

As they walked, they talked. Just meaningless chatter, but Ali found it difficult to not get trapped in her own lies.

"So where are ye from, Alan?" Jack asked casually.

"Port Royal." Ali replied quickly. No harm in telling the truth, right?

Jack raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. When Ali stole a glance at his face, she couldn't read his eyes. "And where do ye work?"

Ali paused. Shit, where did she work? She couldn't say she was a noble or that she was a maid...Lizzie would laugh if she slipped up now. Lizzie! Will! "In the blacksmith…errr…smithery. I'm a blacksmith." Was that the proper term for it? Smithery? She felt the need to elaborate, to back up her story, because Jack was eyeing her suspiciously. "I'm an apprentice, actually. Mr. Turner's the actual blacksmith, I'm just the apprentice."

"Mr. who?" Jack asked carelessly, avoiding her glance.

"Mr. Turner—William Turner," Ali continued, now on a roll. It was after this vital piece of information slipped from her tongue that she remembered Jack knew Will Turner quite well. And it was likely Jack also knew that Will didn't have an apprentice.

"Ahh," Jack nodded, his gaze inscrutable. "Well, Alan, we do not require the services of a errr…blacksmith aboard the Pearl, so we shall have to find another job for ye. After all, ye can't stay if ye don't earn yer keep, savvy?" He did not mention his disbelief that such a weakling could've ever been a blacksmith. He also didn't discuss his knowledge that Will Turner didn't have an apprentice.

Jack led her throughout the ship, showing Ali her room, his room, each crew member's room, the deck, how to work the sails, and many other things. At last they ended up in the kitchen, where the lady—Ana—who had babysat Ali currently was working. Ana was muttering to herself, the picture of frustration, and didn't notice—or if she did notice, didn't pay any attention to—their entrance.

"I have an idea!" Jack proclaimed as a brilliant idea came to mind. "You shall be our new cook." Anamaria, working at chopping carrots in a little corner of the kitchen, looked up, furious.

"What?" Ana cried in indignation. Obviously she had heard them enter. Ali chose to remain silent, since Anamaria looked quite ready to hurt someone and Ali didn't want to be the unlucky victim. "I'm the cook! We have no need of a new one!"

"Ah, yes, luv, yer the cook as of _now_." Jack said in a coaxing tone, confident of his abilities. He could calm any woman down, even an extremely upset Anamaria. "We all appreciate yer err…efforts, but ye see, we wouldn't want to be wearin' ye down, would we? I mean, seein' as how yer already takin' two shifts at night and help out on deck too. Yer a very busy, important woman, luv. Now ye see, Alan here--" Jack took a pause in his elaborate speech and stopped the erratic movements of his hands to point at Ali. "Alan isn't doing much at all. He has no job, he isn't really good for much, no offense lad, and he's only takin' one shift at night, savvy? Why not distribute the work, so the ones who have more have less? I don't see why yer upset meself, luv, seein' as how I'm…loosenin' yer burden, per say."

Ana stared for a few moments into Jack's all too innocent eyes. Ali, meanwhile, marveled at this man's talent for persuasion. A useful tool, to be sure. At last Anamaria decided Jack's explanation for replacing her with Ali was satisfactory, and removed her apron grudgingly.

"God knows I could use a break," Ana muttered grumpily before exiting.

"Aye, luv, ye deserve it." Jack grinned cheekily at his success. After Ana's retreating back had fully disappeared, he turned back to Ali.

"Now, Mr. Peters, we have approximately twenty five people on board the Black Pearl and limited supplies, all located in that back corner. We shall be stopping in El Congo in about two and a half days. Until then, it is your duty to adequately feed the members of this crew and to take the morning shift from 4:00 to 6:00. If ye be in need of help, I suppose ye could ask Anamaria, but I'd advise against it. Any questions?" Jack paused his rant to look at the boy, and rubbed his hands together at the ensuing silence. "Good," Jack continued. "If ye really, really, really need dire assistance, I suppose I'm available as well. Ye might want to get started on breakfast, lad, seein' as how ye've got morning shift and probably won't have time to make it in the morning." With that Jack turned on his heel and left the kitchen to a very confused, incompetent Alianne.

**A/N: Please continue to read and review, it means sooooo much to me!**


	10. The Cook

**A/N: Okay, I know in the summary it says that Jack wants the treasure and revenge—and there hasn't been any mention of such yet. But trust me, it WILL play into the story, I'm just working up to it. It's cuz everything is from Ali's point of view, and she had no idea there's a treasure at all…just be patient, oh faithful readers. And I also want to develop Ali's life on the ship, not just fling her into some random battle for her life right away, ya know? **

**AneleTiger: Ahh, I'm so glad you like the story! Thanks for letting me use 'savvy' incorrectly, lol. Errm, sorry to disappoint, but I wasn't planning on cannibals—although that WOULD be really really interesting…**

**Niwrem: I'm really sorry you're day sucked—but I'm glad my update made you feel better : ). Thanks for reviewing and keep it up! **

**PirateLass: I applaud. Greatly. Laziness is a devastating force to fight, and I must say you've done quite a good job of it. Keep it up (basically keep reviewing, lol. It's appreciated)!**

**Aquarius Clarinetus: Yes, Will does deserve to be pitied—but seeing as how I'm not that big of an Orli fan myself (NO OFFENSE TO THOSE ORLANDO BLOOM LOVERS OUT THERE, I just like Johnny Depp more), things aren't that bad. They COULD get worse…**

CHAPTER TEN

The first breakfast was the quite memorable, simply because Ali had never cooked food of such immense proportions before in her life. After much pondering, she decided to make some oatmeal for the crew—simple, filling, and tasty. Most unfortunately, however, oatmeal for twenty five people required a hell of a lot of water. So Ali spent a good ten minutes filling buckets with water and lugging this water to a huge kettle above the fireplace. The water then took a good half hour to come to a boil, and by then Ali was sweating profusely and her hands had blistered from the repeated weight of the water. She wished she could take off the hat, for it stuck most uncomfortably to her sweaty hair, but she couldn't risk the arrival of a crew member and the discovery of her secret.

And so Ali had sat by the fire on a stool, stirring the oatmeal every minute or so in the steaming heat. She never once removed her hat, which was regrettable since no one came inside the kitchen for the entire two hours she spent cooking.

Oatmeal simply couldn't be eaten on its own, however. It had to have some flavor or it was like eating paper—tasteless. So Ali searched in the corner where all the food was located and found some blueberries. By the time these were discovered, Ali was tired, hot, sore from kneeling while looking for the fruit, and disgruntled. The last thing she needed was Jack Sparrow coming to try and take her hat off. Which was, of course, exactly what happened.

Ali was down by the corner, searching for just a few more blueberries, when she felt a jerk on her hat. She screeched and clamped her hands down on her head, and whipped around to see who had committed such an atrocity. Jack Sparrow—Captain Jack Sparrow—was standing there, bemused at her overreaction.

"Sorry, lad," Jack said, puzzled. "I didn't think ye'd mind that much. It's just…that hat looks awfully uncomfortable now. When it's so hot in here."

Ali sighed irritably. "You're forgiven," she said coldly without looking at him. "Why are you here, Captain?"

"Oh, just to see how things were going along," Jack replied evasively.

"And?" Ali prompted in annoyance. She knew that couldn't be all.

"And to…remind you that you take mornin' shift for guard duty tomorrow," Jack replied, still avoiding the subject. Ali turned to him and raised her eyebrows.

"What do you want, sir?"

"Just a bit of rum," Jack replied pleadingly. "It helps me sleep at night, ye see, and it would be very, very appreciated. It's such a comfort to a worried mind, really takes the load of yer shoulders. Alan, don't deny a man his rum!" Ali groaned and pointed him in the direction of the huge rum barrel a few feet away. Jack clapped his hands together in front of him and shook them a few times, smiling all the while in what he thought was a charming manner. It looked like he was praying—except…not.

In between sips of rum Jack led some conversation with Ali. "So Alan, what brought ye to Sans Antoine?" He asked curiously, lounging lazily in a wooden chair with feet propped up on a table. He held his mug of rum possessively.

"Business," she replied elusively, making sure not to look at him. She washed the blueberries a bit before dropping them into the pot full of oatmeal and stirring again. "Mr. Turner sent me. Wanted someone responsible."

"But ye weren't, were ye?" Jack asked in that same light tone. At Ali's puzzled look Jack continued. "Ye betrayed his trust and ran away on the Pearl instead o' finishing his business, right?" Ali went rigid and didn't reply, so Jack kept talking. "It's a pity, really. It is so very hard to put yer trust in someone, and it's even harder when ye find out they weren't worth it." Ali longed to hit him on his smug, drunk face with the spatula she was currently gripping and to also tell him the truth. That she hadn't betrayed anyone's trust, or hurt anyone. She was a good, trustworthy person!

An image of her father's tired eyes and tired soul floated to the top of her mind, and Ali brushed it away impatiently. She didn't even want to think about how he was taking the news. Ali picked up the jar of sugar and poured some inside the huge pot. She went back to stirring, with a fiery passion.

* * *

_It was so cold. So goddamned cold. Goosebumps and chills conquered the little girl's body and she shivered. Shards of glass ran down her cheeks, mirroring her soul. The water from the skies mixed with the water from her core and flowed, streamlike, down her face. With a trembling finger and a trembling heart the little child reached up to wipe away the telltale signs of emotion. As she thought of the woman, pain exploded inside her spirit again, causing another onslaught of sobs. The girl closed her eyes and leaned against the hard tree trunk, listening to the pitter patter of raindrops falling around her and the thunder booming in her ears. When she opened her eyes, she registered the flash of lightning just before it blinded her. And she clung to the tree trunk, sightless and lost, crying out into the darkness to ease her heart from the pain, still tightly gripping at the only solid thing in this cold, cold world. _

Ali awoke with a start, gasping for breath. Another knock resounded from her door, and she frantically grabbed at her hat, which she had taken off to sleep. Once it was securely in place, Ali called: "Come in."

Gibbs' weary face peered at her in the darkness through the crack he had just opened. "It's yer turn for guard duty, lad," he said gruffly. "Sorry to wake ye."

"Not a problem," Ali replied as she willed her body to get out of the bed. Her muscles protested her every movement, her arms feeling like she had just spent the last two hours stirring fifty pounds of oatmeal—which she had. She swung her feet off the bed and stumbled up. Gibbs nodded at her and left for his turn to sleep.

She yawned as she made her way up deck, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. The nighttime breeze was chilling, but relaxing all the same. Once on deck Ali glanced around nervously. What was she supposed to do?

Well, if she was on guard duty, she was probably supposed to watch for attackers at night. And the best place to do that would the highest place. Ali's eyes traveled up the mast onto the Crow's Nest about 70 feet above her. Her breath caught in her throat at the challenge, and without a moment's hesitation Ali started to scale it.

Minutes later Ali was on top of the world. She sat in the little platform, her blanket wrapped safely around her, with her feet dangling down over the treacherous heights. The waters were calm at this time of the day, and the rocking motion of the ship was calming. Ali sat and sat and sat there, wishing that she still had her sketchbook as she gazed out into the soothing deep blue waves. The horizon looked so tangible when she was up so high, and she wanted to just reach out her fingers and touch the place where the heavens met the earth. The skies were changing from darkness to a hopeful gray, and Ali watched, fascinated, as the sun began to rise.

Streaks of orange, red, purple, and blue splashed across the grey in a dazzling display of artisanship. Ali fondly remembered how her mother had described a sunset to her: "The sky, Ali, is God's easel. He paints on it every day, and the sunrise is the result. It's the most beautiful masterpiece ever." A light wind blew a few stray hairs around her face, and she closed her eyes, reveling in the glory. This was what she had ran away for, risked her life for—this freedom, the wind in her hair, the sunrise, the waves crashing into the boat and rocking it, the whole atmosphere of beauty surrounding her. A small sigh escaped her lips.

"Enjoying yerself, lad?" A voice called from below her, shattering her peace. Peering downwards, Ali saw Jack ascending the ladder to the crow's nest.

"It's been two hours already?" Ali asked, amazed. Jack didn't bother to answer.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" The Captain said when he was safe, gesturing to the sunrise. Ali nodded in agreement and didn't budge, simply staring into the skies. "Ye can go now, Alan, I can take it from here. 'Sides, ye might want to get a start on that breakfast."

Ali smiled and nodded again before going down.

* * *

Breakfast aboard the Pearl was absolute hell. Everything was hectic—the pirates were dirty, hungry, and rude. Her first customer was Anamaria, whom Ali courteously wished a good morning. She received a grunt in reply. The oatmeal hadn't been through reheating when Ana arrived, so Ali had to try and make small talk while waiting. The conversation was rather one sided. By the time the oatmeal wasn't freezing cold anymore, a line had formed behind Anamaria.

Ali started scooping oatmeal atop of plates and handing them out. It was then that she realized the plates weren't exactly in the cleanest of conditions. Indeed, the dishes were disgustingly dirty. The pirates didn't seem to mind however, and protested the wait that resulted when she tried to wash them. And so Ali gave up the attempt at improving hygiene and served the pirates regardless.

An hour later everyone had eaten—there hadn't been that many complaints other than a chunk of blueberry that Mr. Greene had choked on. He claimed Ali had tried to sabotage him, that it was all a conspiracy. This comment was dismissed by the crew, however, because of its sheer stupidity.

Ali was now faced with a pile of dishes to wash, and she had to draw her own water to do so. It was easier to understand why the previous cook hadn't cleaned the plates when faced with the tower of platters. The next half hour was spent up to her elbows in soap suds and water, scrubbing away at the never ending supply of dishes.

When she was finally done with that, Ana came to visit the kitchen and the cook, bringing with her good news.

"Ye might want to start on lunch soon," Ana said gruffly. "Ye've got about say, an hour and a half?" Ali, quite the pacifist, had never felt more like hurting something.

* * *

Life fell into a routine for Alan Peters. Every day she would get up at about 4:00 in the morning to take over Gibbs for the morning shift. There she would stay, up in the Crow's Nest, until replaced by Jack at 6:00. She kept getting up earlier and earlier each day, however, because she felt sorry for Gibbs. He had terrible pains and aches in his joints sometimes, and this was only worsened by the cold night weather. And thus Ali would relieve him from his shift earlier and earlier, to shorten the amount of time a tired old man had to spend outside.

After being replaced from guard duty, Ali would head to the kitchen and prepare breakfast. After breakfast Ali would wash the dishes and prepare for lunch. After lunch, Ali would wash the dishes and help out on deck a bit—mopping, sweeping, tedious work of the sort. Then she would prepare dinner, and after dinner she would wash the dishes. After washing the dishes, Ali would prepare breakfast for the next morning and then go to sleep before the sun set—around 8:30.

This nice little schedule was exactly how she spent the uneventful days before El Congo. Looking back, Ali regretted ever feeling bored during this time, for boredom was preferable to the upcoming events…

**A/N: I know this wasn't a terribly exciting chapter and I'm sorry. I just wanted to get some background out there, and I promise the next one will be better. And it will be put up faster, for volleyball's over now (we won gold at our last tourney! Yay!) and I have more time to waste. Though, of course, this isn't a waste. Please read and review, it's quite appreciated!**


	11. The Rose and Crown

**Disclaimer: POTC ain't mine, dangnabit. **

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews all! Keep it up.**

**  
niwrem: aww thanks. I really didn't like last chapter much, but hey, if everyone approved, I'll go along with it. I like this one much much more : )**

**VampireHelsing: YAY new reviewer! I'm glad you liked it, keep reviewing. It means so much to me just to get ONE review. **

**AneleTiger: I'm thinkin' bout it…I actually had a previous way that Ali would be discovered, and I really liked that way, but I have been considering someone ELSE taking off her hat before, and keeping her secret, until the finale (when everyone finds out… using my original idea…) does that make any sense? **

**For all the rest of you, PLEASE read and review!**

* * *

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ali clung close to Jack's side when they arrived at El Congo. She felt like a newborn baby, absorbing in all the new sights in shock. All around her was forest and trees—green and beautifully alive—and probably home to cannibals. The Pearl had landed about two minutes ago, and Ali was, truth be told, quite glad. Water rationing aboard the ship wouldn't allow her to take a bath—something she had missed dearly. After their landing the Captain had given out wages for the crew to spend here. He had given Ali extra money set aside for restocking the ship, and warned her that is she used this capital for her own interests, she would suffer severe consequences. Ali had no idea what to spend her own money on, let alone the excess food fund. After this, they had started walking.

Jack spun around in annoyance as Ali stepped on his heels once again. "Alan, lad, I am going to tell ye this One. More. Time," Jack said, irritated. Ali could see the muffled frustration in his eyes. "Yer too close. Please back off." Ali nodded frantically, still feeling out of place, and continued walking at the same distance away from Jack. Ten seconds later she stepped on him again.

"Will you DESIST?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Ali cried in fear as a very pissed off Captain turned to confront her. "I won't do it again, I'm just…nervous."

Seeing the boy's face, Jack's heart softened. It was a scary thing to be out in a land you didn't know for the first time. "It's alright, Peters. Just…please…try not to do it again."

After about a half an hour of a walk (in which Ali did step on Jack again—each time causing them both to wince), the forest began to thin, and Ali began to relax. There were no hungry savages leaping out at her with spears, after all.

When the trees had literally all disappeared, Ali saw ahead of her a city—not even a town, a city. There were very dirty looking people running around drunkenly, chasing after scantily clad women with a lot of makeup on. Ali couldn't help but laugh inside. No matter where you were, there would always be places like this. Lighting was dim, as it was evening time, and in the shadows of lonely alleys, Ali could see the outlines of men skulking around. She shivered, and double checked for her hat again.

"Ah, we're here at last! Congo!" Jack cried out cheerfully to the line of crewmen behind him. He twisted around to face them. "I want ye all to return to the Pearl by sunset tomorrow night. Don't be late, for our patience is awfully thin, savvy? Now, go out, have fun, get drunk, get yerself a girl, or, in yer case--" He gestured to Anamaria, who was scowling unhappily. "A man. Take what ye can, and give nothin' back!" The crew cheered immensely after this.

While the crew dispersed, Ali remained close behind Jack, moving when he moved, turning when he turned, and stopping when he stopped. At last, exasperated, Jack faced her.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" Ali asked softly, her eyes wide and grey and frightened.

"Are ye a eunuch, lad?" Jack asked in disgust, drawing back, obviously taking her comment the wrong way. "I wouldn't be surprised, because yer master was doubtful as well…" Ali cheered up at this accusation. If she wasn't so scared, she would've laughed outright.

"No, I'm not missing any of my sexual organs," Ali replied truthfully. "What I meant was…could I follow you around this once? Since I'm new…"

The last thing Jack wanted was the scrawny, somewhat annoying child around whilst he…had his fun, but he couldn't refuse those huge scared eyes. Jack remembered when once upon a time he had been that boy, and also recalled how much he appreciated a fatherly figure. "Sure, lad," Jack replied, smiling and revealing golden teeth. "Stick with me—I'll show ye a good time." Ali nodded nervously and continued to tag along with Jack. He led them to a dirty, rowdy, cramped pub, with a rickety wooden sign declaring it "The Rose and Crown" in fancy script.

"Now THIS place," Jack said, gesturing wildly. "Makes the best rum in Congo…and they have the best entertainment, savvy?" He winked at Ali, and she thanked the Lord that she didn't blush easily.

* * *

The inside of the tavern was even dirtier than the outside. Constant brawls between drunken men broke out every few seconds, and Ali found it hard to dodge the conflicts. Even harder to avoid were the women—many approached Ali, purring and stroking her arm. She jerked away with disgust each time. Ali was not interested in sleeping with someone of the same sex. Hell, she wasn't interested in sleeping with anyone period!

Jack chuckled at the boy's foolish attempts to fight off the ladies. The girls at the Rose and Crown were persistent, determined, and really quite good. He beckoned Alan over to a table and sat down promptly. Alan joined him shortly, unnerved by the women.

"What would you like to drink, sir?" A blonde waitress said, sauntering up to Jack and sidling around the table. Her dress was really quite low cut, showing off her ample assets, and really short. Jack saw the boy wince as she leaned inwards to hear the reply.

"Rum, please," Jack answered, licking his lips as the woman smiled seductively. "And you, Alan?"

"Oh, just a glass of water," Ali replied nervously. She didn't need any woman coming on to her, and the aggressive waitress was worsening matters.

"A glass of water?" Jack cried, fakely outraged. "At the Rose and Crown? No, no Alan, I won't allow it. The boy wants rum too." The waitress nodded at this bent down further to whisper in Jack's ear.

"Would you like any…company for the night, as well?" She asked huskily. "I, for one, would be glad to comply."

A grin split across Jack's tanned face, showing off his golden teeth. "Yes please, miss…?" He asked.

"Lorelei," She answered, smiling as well.

"Nice to meet ye, Lorelei," Jack replied. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow." He watched her shocked reaction with pleasure.

"Well, then, Captain Sparrow, I'll be right back with everything you asked for." She left with a wink.

Jack turned to face Alan, who looked positively scared out of his wits. "Oh, come on boy, live a little!" Jack cried, gesturing wildly. "Have some fun! Ye're as dull as that eunuch master of yours."

Soon Lorelei was back with the rums. As Alan watched, horrified, she straddled Jack and started kissing him fiercely all the while. Jack, however, didn't seem to upset by her advances. The rum lay untouched in front of Alan, but Jack gulped down the drink in between the action.

"Jack?" Lorelei gasped, breathless into his ear, stopping her kisses.

"Yes, luv," He murmured, pressing his lips to her neck, watching happily at her reaction.

"Would your friend like any company as well?"

Jack pondered for a while and decided that would be most amusing. "He's achin' for that brunette over yonder," Jack whispered wickedly. "He just doesn't know how to show it."

Lorelei grinned. "We can fix matters…"

Ali watched, even more horrified, as a busty brunette waltzed over to her and started flirting. She tried to show her disinterest, but the prostitute wouldn't give up. In between casual touches that were meant to turn Ali own, the brunette kept repeating: "I know you want me…I know you want me…"

Finally Ali stood up, completely appalled. "Who told you that I wanted you?" She cried.

The whore looked shocked for a second, and then pointed at a laughing Jack Sparrow. Ali could feel her temper rising and glared at him. Seeing her look, he occupied himself with Lorelei's lips. When they broke the kiss, Jack saw a very pissed off Alan Peters standing over him.

"D'ye need something, boy?" Jack asked. "I'm kinda busy here."

"Why did you tell her I wanted company for the night?" Ali hissed, pointing at theprostitute whohadleft Ali to find a more willing victim. Lorelei had enough sense to stop her actions and let the two men talk.

"I thought ye did, lad!" Jack cried innocently. "How was I supposed to know ye didn't? All men want a warm bed and a warm woman, eh? Only a eunuch would turn such a pleasure down. Or are ye a eunuch?"

"I'm NOT a eunuch," Ali said, seething. "I'm just. Not. Interested."

"How come, lad?" Jack asked curiously.

"I'm too…" Ali said, still quite upset. She couldn't think of a reason though—it was true that most men only wanted sex, sex, and more sex. "Young," She finished resolutely.

"Young?" Jack said, grinning. "I thought ye was 26! That's a ripe ol' age, if ye ask me." Jack watched the boy's face contort with anger at being caught in his own lie.

"Never mind!" Ali shouted, barely hearable over another brawl. "Just leave me alone, Jack Sparrow!" And with that she stormed off to get a room for the night.

"Leave ye alone?" Jack shouted after his back. "I thought ye wanted to follow me around!" The boy turned around and shot him a death look. "And it's CAPTAIN!" Jack cried before diverting his attention to the woman on his lap.

* * *

Ali lay in her bed, still incredibly pissed off at the smug, obnoxious, overconfident and annoying Jack Sparrow. It bothered her that she was still so mad, for she had just taken a bath—and normally those relaxed her. Ali sighed and ran her hands over her hair, still wet, which was currently let down in gentle damp waves that spread in a fan across the pillow. She hadn't considered how she would get her hair back up after taking it out, but somehow Ali would manage. She'd think about it all in the morning, when she wasn't so pissed off and the damn headache was gone.

**A/N: Aren't you glad I posted again so soon? I was proud of myself, lol. And for a reward for me, please review. Please?**


	12. Blossoming

**Disclaimer: POTC mine is not. Belong to the Mouse it does. **

**A/N: Hey all, sorry it took so long to update. I'm a horrible person, yes yes I know I know. Anyways, now that the bad news is over with, here comes the even worse news! The next chapter will be delayed as well, because our family is goin' on a vacation to Yellowstone for a week and a half, so Ch. 13 (which I still need to start) won't be up for about two or three weeks. Again, I'm sorry about that. But review all the same please! It's really encouraging. **

**Niwrem: Ahh, the annoyingness of Jack…somehow even that manages to be undeniably hott, lol. Thanks for the review and keep it up!**

**PirateLass: You will seriously have to wait and see. I have great expectations for this fic, so you'd better stick around…Jack should find out she's a girl in one or two chapters more. I think. Ish. Lol, whatever, just keep reading and reviewing : )**

**AquariusClarinetus: Did you know that Johnny Depp actually lost his virginity when he was around 13? Yeah, so I thought the "26 seems plenty old to me" was ironic, thus I added it. Thanks for the review! Plz keep it up. **

**Forfirith Vebriclya****: YAY new reviewer! Thanks for the compliment, I'll try and live up to it. Keep reviewing (and reading, of course), I really appreciate it. **

**AneleTiger: lol I could FEEL the MiriamAndre vibes goin' strong through the story! (unless there weren't any and I just thought they should hook up and convinced myself that there were vibes so that they WOULD hook up). I really really liked it, keep it up too! Aww, thanks for the encouragement…it means the world to me. Keep it up!**

**To the rest of you, please read and review. Please?**

CHAPTER TWELVE

_It was all her fault. No one blamed her, however, and that just intensified the guilt. She was so cold, so goddamned cold. And deep inside her, the girl could feel the barriers of ice building, suppressing her pain. The image of her father's eyes, right when he heard the news, burned itself into her soul. It was the picture of a heart shattering into thousands of pieces, of crushing and utter devastation. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to rid her mind of that image. And it was all her fault. The little girl sat sobbing in the freezing rain, the weight of ruining both her father's life and her own life slaughtering her childhood. _

Ali awoke with a gasp as someone pounded on the door to the room, startling her into wakefulness. Her hair! Damn it, it was still down! Leaving all chances of further sleep in the bed, Ali sprang up and ran to the door, bolting it shut deftly.

"Alan?" Anamaria's voice called sharply. "Can I come in?" Ali heard the sound of the knob turning and of a frustrated sigh as Anamaria found it locked.

"No," Ali cried frantically, trying to pile her masses of hair atop her head. Elizabeth had managed to accomplish this difficult task with surprisingly few pins, and Ali was finding the supply of them lacking. At the rate she was using them, she would barely have enough to keep her hair up, let alone pin down her hat. Ali winced as she stabbed herself in the scalp with one.

"What?" Anamaria said angrily. "Ye do realize I'm doin' ye a FAVOR by takin' ye supply shoppin', right? And trust me; I wouldn't have done it either if the captain hadn't demanded I guide ye around. And now yer makin' me WAIT?" There was nothing for it—Ali wouldn't be able to pin her hat down.

Ali clamped the hat on her head and opened the door hastily to a very pissed off Anamaria. "Sorry," She said apologetically. "But I wasn't decent. You see, I err…sleep naked. Nervous habit." Ali had to muffle a laugh at Anamaria's face, which was turning steadily redder. "And unless I'm much mistaken, I don't think you would've wanted to see that now, would you, love?" She winked, and then promptly winced inwardly at her boldness.

"Ye've spent too much time around Jack, boy," Anamaria said scathingly. "And heaven knows we don't need another one of him. And for the record, Alan—it's Ana, not 'love', alright?" Ali nodded agreeably, fairly certain that Ana wouldn't bother her about the wait anymore.

"Well, then, lad," Ana said while leading the way out of the tavern. "Jack wanted me to show ye how to shop for supplies—comparative shopping. They tend to overprice the food on this island, and unless ye possess keen bargaining skills, ye'll end up payin' much more than ye ought to."

As in turned out, Ali did not possess keen bargaining skills. Once in the market, Ana told Ali to try and get a good price for ten pounds of sugar. Ali, of course, had no idea what the price of sugar was, having relied on maids to shop and cook literally all her life, and thus didn't know what a good price for ten pounds of sugar would be. She managed to bring the price down two shillings from the proposed cost, and was about to pay when Ana cut in sharply.

"That's much too high of a price," the pirate said harshly, throwing a glare at the incompetent Ali. "Just because my colleague here is stupid doesn't mean I shall let him waste our money." And thus began a huge argument with the market man over the price of the sugar. While this took place, Ali stood to the side awkwardly, stung by Ana's uncalled for insult.

The same activity was repeated with oranges, salted meat, flour, and eggs. Each time Ali started off the bargaining, and each time Ana cut in and ended it. After about an hour and a half of repeated verbal abuse from Ana, Ali gave up. She decided to leave the pirate woman alone with the current debater to argue over the prices. The Peterson household had not been badly off financially at all, and a few pounds weren't sorely missed from their treasury.

Whilst waiting, Ali turned and observed the people of El Congo. Tan, dark skinned, dark haired, and exotic, there were African Americans, what looked like half blacks, and Caucasians bustling about the market. It being a British colony, the Caucasian population seemed to dominate the rest.

The market was basically a long dirt road with booths set up on every side, selling a variety of goods. Ali, looking back, saw Ana in an especially heated argument and decided to let the pirate bargain. She wasn't needed here. With a few extra coins jingling in her pocket, Ali decided to buy herself a breakfast and a weapon. After all, you could never tell when a harmful object would come in handy…

* * *

About an hour and a half later, Ali was sitting inside The Rose and Crown again, much happier than she had been the previous night. She had had breakfast (pancakes—blueberry ones—and a glass of milk), she had bought a sword (it was pretty specimen—small and lightweight, and perfect for Ali) and a sketchbook and pencils, she had gotten rid of the condescending Anamaria, there was no whore trying to swallow Ali with her boobs, and, best of all, there was no Jack.

Ali smiled and drew her blade out of her sheath, swinging it around a few times to get the feel of it. Ali was no sword expert, but she wasn't bad either. The bit of skill she had was due mainly to her mother's insistence on fencing lessons, taken from age five until twelve. At twelve, the nobles had started talking about the 'impropriety' of a lady taking sword lessons, and thus, her mother not being around to defend the sport, it was dropped. It had been many a year since her last fencing lesson, Ali thought ruefully. It was a shame, really, because Ali had enjoyed it and her teacher had said that Ali showed "great promise."

What were the steps again? The basic footwork had been grounded into her brain for seven years, and she would hate to have forgotten them completely. Oblivious to the world around her, Ali got up from her wooden chair and started pacing the room. Left foot forward, right back, swing, turn, parry…that wasn't right. It should have started with her right foot forward.

A chuckle came from the doorway to the pub, and Ali whirled around to face…Captain Jack Sparrow. She groaned.

"Glad to see ye too, Alan," Jack said cheerfully. "Good morning lad!"

"Morning." Ali grunted, trying to focus on her… slightly flawed footwork.

"Skill of Master Turner didn't rub off on ye, eh boy?" Jack chuckled, watching her err again and again.

When Ali didn't reply, Jack came and threw an arm around her shoulder. The close contact heightened her senses, and she could smell the smoky, alcoholic scent that prevailed in his proximity. She wasn't quite sure if it was a good aroma, either, and wrinkled her nose.

"Alan, me boy," Jack said seriously, taking no notice of the actions of her nasal area. "I'm sorry I tried to force a lass upon ye yesterday. I realized the wrongness of my ways afterwards. It is yer choice to be homosexual, and not yer fault, I'm certain, if yer a eunuch. I shouldn't have invaded upon yer privacy so. Will ye accept my apology?"

Ali stood, her sword hanging by her side limply and her mouth agape with shock. Taking her silence as a 'yes', Jack continued talking. "As long as ye don't try and err…make a move on me, per say, I'd be more than willin' to teach ye some skills with the sword. Ye seem to be rather lacking in that area too."

"I'm not a bloody eunuch, Jack," Ali said coldly, pulling away from his arm and the smell. "But seeing as how interested you've been in me after your 'discovery', false though it may be, I must wonder about your sexual interests."

"It's Captain, lad," Jack replied. "And ask any lady around here—I am most definitely not a eunuch. Or gay."

"Well, I'm not either J—Captain," Ali said tiredly. "And I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop saying that I am. It gives the ladies the wrong idea, you know." Jack grinned his wayward grin and nodded knowingly. Inside, Ali patted herself on the back for that stroke of genius. _It gives the ladies the wrong idea. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant._ Perhaps the pirate would stop teasing her.

"That's what I'm talkin' about, lad! Now, how about those sword lessons?"

Despite their rocky beginning, Alan Peters and Captain Jack Sparrow soon became very good friends. Their sword lessons lasted for about two hours, in which the pirate was delighted with the progress of his pupil. Alan, although a weakling, was a very determined boy with a very sharp tongue, as Jack learned the hard way. After their lesson, Jack bought the boy a drink (he still wanted only a glass of ice water, but Jack didn't comment). They joked a bit about each other's dueling weaknesses and just chatted a bit. Jack discovered the cook's intense paranoia of Anamaria on the way back to the Pearl.

"Ah, lad, s'okay. It's just Ana's way, ye know?" Jack slurred. He had a few bottles of rum whilst the boy drank his ice water. "She's a prickly one, but a good person deep down. Just a bit prickly. She's a good person deep down though."

"You said that already," Ali said, amused. The pirate was obviously drunk, and was swaying to and fro even more so than usual. His gesticulations were getting wilder with each word. He actually came quite close to hitting Ali.

"If ye can get past the spines, she's a good person." Jack continued, oblivious. Ali hid her smile at the man, and kept walking, her head down. She drowned out his ramblings and tried to ignore the smell of his breath (rum. It reeked of rum.). Finally the forest began to thin and through the trees, Ali could see the Black Pearl rocking in the waves, a mass of shadow against the darkening sky.

"I've missed ye, luv," Jack said softly from Ali's side. Startled, Ali glanced at him, thinking he was talking to her. But no, the words were directed at the beautiful ship in front of them. Her secret was still safe.

**A/N: Again, not too much happening here, but hey, I got a chapter in, right? Trust me—next chapter will be much, much more exciting. : ) Please just stick around, don't abandon me! It will be worth the wait (I hope). As always, read and review—it'd be very appreciated. **


	13. Closer

**A/N: **OH GOSH I'M SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY! I've actually been back from vacation for over two weeks, but I got sidetracked…I just watched Revenge of the Sith—Star Wars III. And I loved it. It came very, very, very close to the original three—a high compliment, considering how the first two sucked and I walked into the theater with low expectations. So basically I got distracted from the whole Jack Sparrow thing and fell in love with the whole Anakin/Padme thing and started planning out a fanfiction for them because they are just SO CUTE together…although Anakin isn't the best actor, he's still pretty hott. Not Jack Sparrow hott, but pretty close. So yeah, whilst planning I remembered I still had to update this…bottom line is, my apologies, and GO WATCH REVENGE OF THE SITH!

**IMPORTANT: I EDITED CH. 12. Nothing big—I just forgot to add in the fact that Ali bought a sketchbook and pencils whilst shopping in the Congo. It comes into play later, so keep that in mind : ) Now without further ado, I present:**

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Anamaria was not pleased that Ali had ditched bargaining lessons and her teacher. Her face displayed her feelings, lips pursed and arms crossed. Shit, Ali was in for it.

"Thought you could just leave without being noticed, did you?" She said angrily. Ali muttered an apology meekly, ducking her gaze from the dark woman's fierce glare.

"You'd better be sorry!" Ana cried impatiently. Ali was personally amazed that the older woman could've understood her incoherent request for forgiveness. "Load the supplies now, quickly. We're going to be late if you don't move your ass."

Ali left Jack behind, who was staring at her with a pitying expression on his face, and picked up the bags of sugar. As she stumbled up the ramp leading to the Pearl, Ali passed Greene, who sniffed in disdain, making a face of disgust. What did the sailor hold against her, Ali wondered. It was like he hated her, and for no reason at all!

Promptly dropping her load in frustration, Ali returned to pick up more fruits and vegetables. She made a total of seven round trips, carrying various goods and supplies in varying weights, gained three scrapes that bled from encounters with wooden poles that she hadn't known existed, and a bruise from tripping once. Thankfully none of the crew was around to witness it, for she was embarrassed enough as it was.

At last, her arms aching and calves sore from the continuous upwards climb; Ali loaded the last of the oranges. She was NOT in a good mood anymore, especially since she had about forty minutes to prepare dinner.

* * *

Two hours later Ali had finished scrubbing the dinner plates and was resting, slumped in a chair. Her hands were growing rough and callused from overwork, and were currently red from repeated contact with scalding water. This reflection brought a small smile to Ali's face. She had once only used her hands to play the piano or to gather her skirts into a dainty curtsy. It was almost amusing how quickly her well cared for hands were ruined.

She sighed. Today's meal had been particularly horrible. The men had stumbled unhappily back onto the confines of the Pearl, leaving behind warm, women filled beds and a large supply of rum. They had taken out their disappointment at departing on Ali, snapping at her for small mistakes that were normally overlooked. Greene had been especially disagreeable, making a scene when Ali accidentally gave him green beans when he hadn't asked for any.

It had been a long day, and Ali was tired. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the chair, resting herself for a while.

"Hello, lad." A voice came from the doorway. Without opening her eyes, Ali responded to Jack.

"What do you want?" She asked wearily. She was in no mood to be polite—a small part of her had noticed resentfully how Jack hadn't stood up for his abused cook during dinner. Another larger, more logical part of her understood his actions—he was a captain, and couldn't risk mutiny. Better to side with the majority and be safe than be supportive of the minority, even if the minority was his friend. Ali snorted silently. Pirates. What did she expect?

"Listen, Alan, I'm sorry 'bout t'night, lad." Jack began uncomfortably, sensing her bitterness. The lad opened his stormy grey eyes, a sure sign of a bad mood.

"It's fine," Ali cut in, not wanting to discuss the catastrophe. "So Captain, care to tell me where we're going?"

"Well," Jack drawled, sinking haphazardly into a chair. "We had an encounter; ye see, with a ship—the Shadow. A raid, per say—courtesy of Captain Cutlass Carlton. You could say we have to complete …unfinished business."

"Did we raid them or did they raid us?" Ali asked, genuinely interested.

"They raided us," Jack replied softly. "They stole an object…that is very, very important to me. And they killed some faithful crewmembers."

Ali nodded in understanding. That was why she was accepted aboard in the first place—the ship was short of employees and high on positions that had to be fulfilled. "Tell me more."

Jack smiled his roguish smile, flashing gold, and told Ali a tale about the high seas and two rival captains, both young men. She leaned back and let the words wash over her, imagining it in her mind's eye. Both had been racing to get to the famous Isle de Muerta, to gain the treasures that lay within the cave there. It had been a brutal competition, bloody and below the belt. Many had been killed to gain a clue to the whereabouts of the island, but Jack—Captain of the Black Pearl—had come out on top. The Shadow's Captain, Carlton, was not pleased about his archenemy's success, and had faded into history, vowing to gain revenge.

The story ended abruptly. Ali could sense that Jack wanted to avoid the part about Barbossa, and gave him an opening to do so.

"Well?" Ali prompted. "What was Isle de Muerta like?"

"Beautiful," Jack answered reverently. "Shining treasure, everywhere the eye could see. Riches beyond your imagination. And the water—calm, pure, shining, crystal blue. It reflected all the gold, the jewels, everything, in its surface. It was a pirate's dream, lad. Ye should've seen it."

"And now Carlton's returned for his revenge?" Ali asked.

"That he has," Jack said grimly. "And we're going to chase him down."

* * *

Ali awoke again at unearthly hours. Now that she was back on the Pearl, guard duty was necessary. But now she had entertainment for the long hours ahead. As she got dressed yawningly, Ali found her new sketchbook and pencils and carried them with her.

Once above the rest of the world in the crow's nest, Ali sighed and let the night breeze calm her nerves. It had been a tiring week, a huge change from her lazy life in Port Royale. Had it already been a week? She closed her eyes to think, to count the days since she had last seen her house.

Ali smiled slightly as the dark skies around her began to lighten. Every morning brought back memories of her first sunrise ever, which she could picture it in her mind's eye.

_Five year old Ali rubbed the remnants of sleep out of her eyes, yawning. _

_"Where are we going, mummy?" Ali mumbled drowsily, half awake as she was dressed. Obediently Ali raised a leg to stuff into a pair of pants, holding onto her mother's shoulders to balance herself. _

_"You'll see, Alianne," Her mother had replied, straightening the little girl after she was dressed. "Just follow me." _

_Ever trusting, Ali clutched at the hand she was offered and toddled off with her mother down the hall. _

_Once outside, Ali had stood at her mother's side. "What are we out here for, mummy?" _

_"Shhh, you'll find out Alianne! Just be patient." Her mother had replied, and had pulled Ali into her lap, holding her little girl close. _

_It was at this moment when the sun rose, sending streaks of color into the ever lightening sky. Ali gasped, memorizing the glory before her._

_"Beautiful, isn't it?" Ali's mother had asked, smiling at her child. Her very face glowed radiantly as she looked upon her little treasure, the key to her heart._

_"Yes, mummy," Ali had answered reverently in a whisper. "Just like you." And it was this moment, cuddled into her mother's loving arms, which Ali would remember. Forever. _

Love. This memory, so vivid in Ali's mind, was of unconditional love. Love, to her, was an image of a beautiful woman with kindly eyes that sparkled when she laughed. Her hair was a lovely golden shade, like the sun. Everything about her was like the sun, warm and soothing to be under. What had she looked like? Pulling back every memory of her mother that she held so close to her heart, Ali began to draw her mother. Lady Esther Peterson of Port Royale.

She was immersed in the drawing, intent on getting every detail of her perfect mother. She had been young at death, and Ali felt her heart ache at what could have been. If she would've lived, perhaps her father…Ali brushed aside the thoughts. She turned her face upwards, towards the heavens which were now brilliantly painted. Deep inside her heart, Ali believed that her mother was up there, smiling down at her.

"Pretty lady," Jack said from her side. Ali jumped—but only a little. She had gotten used to the pirate's silent approaches.

"Yes," Ali murmured quietly. "She was beautiful." She smiled down at the picture, which she personally thought was quite good. It looked a lot like her mother, which was, as always Ali's goal. Realism, not idealism.

"Yer a good artist, lad," Jack commented.

"Thank you."

There was a pause, and then Jack's curiosity got the better of him.

"Who was she? Wife or lover?" Jack asked, intrigued. He looked closer, and indeed decided that the boy wasn't a eunuch after all.

It took a while for the comment to sink in, but once it hit home, the reaction was immediate. "WHAT?" Ali cried in shock, aghast and drawing away. "No, no, this is my MOTHER." If the situation hadn't been so perverted, Ali might have burst out laughing. She had to remind herself that it was perfectly logical for him to assume such a thing. But then again, Lady Esther Peterson had always been a touchy subject for her.

"Ahhh," Jack replied awkwardly. An even more embarrassed silence followed, which Jack broke. "Sorry, lad. She's just awfully young."

"Yes," Ali replied. "She died early."

"I'm sorry," Jack said sincerely, and Ali flashed a quick smile at him. After a few minutes of sitting there, Ali finished her sketch. A replica of Esther stared up at Ali, perfect down to the dimpled cheeks.

"I'm going to go cook the breakfast," Ali said softly, and proceeded to exit.

**A/N: Okay, again a rather boring chapter, but trust me, next one gets really exciting. I'm excited even thinkin' about it. Also, I'm impressed I even updated, I have tons of ideas swimming around in my head about an upcoming Ani/Padme fic. So please review as a reward for my diligence? PLEASE? I apologize again for the delay. **


	14. Shit

**A/N: Oh my gosh, I haven't updated this story in FOREVER. It's been seriously a month. I am so sorry, to all my faithful reviewers. Writers block just caught me and I couldn't do it anymore. I apologize a hundredfold. Anyways, I tried to make up for it by making this chapter extra long. I'm not entirely satisfied, but hell with it. Could you please read and review? I need the motivation…**

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Ali was frustrated. When she was frustrated, she was not a calm person. While some members of the human race were capable of masking their true feelings, Ali was not. She was one of those who wore their hearts on their sleeves—their expressions and actions told you their emotions. Ali also tended to act before she thought. Because of these two rather unfortunate traits put together, she had often been referred to as impetuous, spontaneous, impulsive, reckless, thoughtless, foolish, pigheaded, and generally disappointing. The latter few adjectives had been submitted by her father, of course.

The tension aboard the Black Pearl didn't help matters. They were nearing the Shadow—you could sense it by the air. Thick and suspenseful, everyone was feeling the nerves that accompanied an oncoming battle. Thus the frustration that Ali felt—she thought herself useless aboard the Pearl, a simple, weak cook who could do no good in the approaching fight. And so she trained, taking out her agitation in sword lessons, trying to regain some of her former knowledge of the blade before it was too late.

There was a recent move Jack and she had been working on—it was called the Raven's Sweep. It involved a very tricky, intricate amount of footwork, lots of fake lunges and thrusts, and a well placed flicking sweep of the opponent's handle that would disarm him. Ali could never get the timing right—she always try and flick at the wrong time, and consequently ruin the move completely. And thus, again, the frustration.

Jack was actually quite proud of the boy, the young cook whom he had taken on. Determined, a bit hot tempered, sharp tongued, sarcastic, and impressively strong for such a stick, he had grown quite fond of Alan Peterson. But alas, the life of a Captain did not afford for fondness…no, there was revenge to deliver, a treasure to find, and pillaging and plundering aplenty.

* * *

Ali awoke with a sense of dread one particular cloudy day. Somewhere, in the very pit of her stomach, she knew that the confrontation that had been so awaited and hyped would come. It was a sixth sense, almost, and not a good one. She felt queer—detached from her body, like she was looking on at life from an omniscient point of view.

She stepped outside her bedroom and walked onto the deck to find the entire crew gathered despite the early hours. No one was complaining of hunger, of heat, or anything—in fact, everyone was silent. They were all staring off into the distance, across the shadowy, murky fog of the morning sea. A few hundred yards out, she saw the distinct imprint of another ship.

"The Shadow," she whispered. A few crew members nodded grimly, while others just continued staring.

"Let's give them hell," Jack said harshly from behind the throng of pirates. A loud, ruthless cheer went up from the crowd.

The next half hour or so passed in a blur of confusion for Ali. Jack, the Captain, began shouting orders left and right, nautical terms flying in a whirlwind throughout the air. Whilst Ali could barely understand what was going on, the rest of the crew seemed perfectly in tune, some working to free sails, others working on steering, or arming themselves, or so on. Ali simply stood there, in the middle of the deck, utterly bewildered as to what she, a young noblewoman from a family of wealth turned young cook, was doing aboard the Pearl. Time did not stop for her self doubts and hesitations, however. All the while the Shadow loomed closer and closer, and the excitement was palpable and tangible. It hung thick in the air and made Ali feel nauseous at the taste on her tongue.

At last Anamaria noticed the girl's uncertainty and walked up to her with a blade in hand. "Use it," Ana said urgently, pressing the handle into the youngster's trembling hand. First fight nerves—every sailor had them. "If you need anything, give me or Jack a shout. We'll rescue you, alright?" Ali nodded, dumbfounded still. Why, oh why, wasn't she at the mansion, relaxing in the sun right now?

Suddenly reality came back to her with a stinging blow at the roar of rage that was arising from the Pearl. They had pulled alongside the Shadow and were now preparing to board. Shit, what should she do? Run and hide, or stand and fight? She was Alianne Peterson of Port Royale! What was she doing here?

"Grab this rope and hang on tight, lad!" Jack called to Ali, making a decision for the girl. She broke out of her paralysis and clasped the cord tightly, making sure to store her sword in the safety of her belt beforehand. Once her grip was firm, Jack leaped on from behind her and shoved off the railing of the Pearl, swinging precariously over to the Shadow. He landed smoothly on the other ship's deck, deflecting the blow from an incoming attacker. Ali was not quite so lucky—her legs were knocked out from under her, and she lay there, sprawled, for a few moments before getting up.

The last thing needed to wake her up was the pirate swinging a large, lethal looking cutlass in her direction. Had she not had good reflexes, she would have been bleeding a rather large amount from a chest wound. Ali gasped and pulled out her own blade, steeling herself for her first real fight. She held it in the guard position, and warily stepped back from the attacker.

Meanwhile, Jack was having his own problems. Let the men deal with the fighting—Jack had to find it. He sidestepped a few pirates, engaged in a duel, and dodged quickly inside what he assumed to be the Captain's room. No one else would insist on something so elaborate, complete with its own fireplace. Jack shuddered at the man's stupidity—a fireplace in a wooden ship!

Opening a few books, he found that indeed, the name Christopher Carlton inscribed in the title page in overly fancy letters. He smirked—the man had not changed in the years since their last meeting. Arrogant, narcissistic, and intent on gaining prestige, Carlton was everything Jack hated—fake, superficial, and unfortunately, quite handsome.

He heard the door creak shut from behind him, and spun around to see who the intruder was. Leaning against the wall, with a self satisfied smirk firmly in place, was the man of the moment himself.

"Speak of the devil," Jack breathed, his eyes narrowing. "Carlton."

"Ahh, Jack Sparrow, we meet again," the man replied, his dark eyes twinkling in confidence. He shifted, his muscles rippling in the light. Yes, many a woman would've gone for Carlton—tall, dark, handsome. Damn him and his height. "To what do I owe this errr…pleasure?"

Jack smiled back winningly. "To the fact that ye, my dear friend Carlton, killed me cook, one of me best sailors, and stole me map to the famous treasure from the Legend of Theoa. And I'd best be getting my map back, Carlton."

"Or else what, Jack?" Carlton asked teasingly, drawing his blade as Jack did likewise. "Will I be punished?"

"That ye shall," Jack replied evenly, circling with the man warily. Carlton had a definite height, weight, and muscle advantage. But he was Captain Jack Sparrow.

"By who?" He hissed, all playfulness gone.

"Me," Jack stated simply before attacking. He spun inwards suddenly, each movement a whirlwind of motion, too fast for anyone but an expert swordsman to see. Carlton, unfortunately, was an expert swordsman. Jack continued to slice at the left, slash at the right, fake a lunge and twist to dodge the man's blow, kick outwards, hurl some random lamp at his opponent's face with his free hand, and attack. He tried throwing chairs, books, and actually fighting with his sword. Carlton, however, either blocked or dodged everything.

Finally, panting, Jack retreated to his original position of circling about, sword in defensive position. Although he wasn't attacking, his brain hadn't stopped working. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a prod, a metal one, sitting in the fire place. Obviously someone had just gotten the fire started, he noticed. Mustering up all his speed and energy, Jack swiftly ducked and ran for the object, removed it from the fire, and turned to whack Carlton full force on the sword arm with it.

A nasty odor of burnt flesh filled the room, and a sizzling sound was produced, followed quickly by a howl of pain that echoed in the room. Carlton dropped his blade, free hand coming to clasp his wound in agony.

In a second Jack was there, the fire hot prod in his hand, pointed threateningly at Carlton. It hovered a few inches above Carlton's chest.

"Where is the map?" Jack asked fiercely, the battle glow still in his eyes.

"I'll never tell you," Carlton hissed vehemently. His previous statement was soon drowned out by another scream as Jack pressed the scorching metal down on Carlton's exposed chest.

"Next time it will be the neck, and it won't be so short," Jack said calmly. "Now, where is the map?"

"Second drawer of the desk has a secret compartment under it," Carlton gasped, writhing on the floor as the burn seared.

Jack turned to look at the desk, but before moving to it, stopped and pressed the iron to Carlton's other hand, ignoring the ensuing shriek.

"I told you where it was! What was that for?"

"It's because I don't like you, mate," Jack replied calmly, smiling slightly as he went and retrieved said map.

The scene above deck was chaotic. Everywhere pirates were finishing up their fights, and it seemed that the Pearl would be victorious. Casualties had been suffered—Gibbs' right arm would probably never be the same again—but none were dead. As the last of the duels ended, counts of the survivors were taken. Everyone from the crew of the Pearl was present—but where was Jack?

"Where's the Captain?" Anamaria asked the gathered crew, scanning the deck for a familiar bandanna or swinging, beaded dreadlocks. "Has anyone seen Jack?"

"You don't think he's…? Do you?" Ali asked from Ana's side. The older pirate didn't reply. The silence was horrible, and Ali felt something in her chest region ache. Jack had been a good friend and teacher, and it was shame that he was gone. Quite sad, actually.

"Ladies and gents," a familiar slurred voice came from behind them. "Why the worry? Ye forget--I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?" Ali turned around to see the infamous smirk on his tanned face. He was walking—no, strutting—self importantly out of a dark room. Ali could only guess what was inside that room.

A grin broke out on Ali's face. She was so happy to see that he was still alive that she didn't bother to roll her eyes or make a sarcastic comment about his pompous bragging ways. She was curiously happy—she had never anticipated CARING about these pirates.

She squinted suddenly, unsure if what she saw was simply a trick of her mind or reality. Indeed, if she was correct, Ali had just seen a person emerging from the shadows behind Jack. She furrowed her brow, looking harder. Yes, it truly was a person. And what was that he was holding? A…a…sword!

Ali gave a scream of shock as the silhouette raised his blade above Jack's head threateningly. Her shriek brought the attention of the other Pearl crewmembers, but none were closer then she.

It was an instinct. A reflex. Ali unsheathed her blade, elbowed Jack out of the way, and brought up her sword to fend off the attack. The unmistakable clang of steel meeting steel rang in the ears of all. Ali gritted her teeth and pushed upwards with all her might. The dark attacker pulled back, rearranged himself, and shifted into attack mode.

Ali was a defensive fighter. She always had been, considering how her offensive moves were rather lacking. Defense had served her well in the past few practice fights with Jack—the Captain normally ran out of energy before she did, and she had no problem blocking his moves. Unfortunately, this man wasn't Jack.

Carlton was not worried about the boy standing before him. There were no apparent muscles on the kid's arms, and his clothes hung on him limply. A weakling. One with guts, yes, to block an attack of such force. But still a weakling.

It was amusing to watch the child stumble backwards, over his own feet, as Carlton moved in. He watched the boy retreat again and again, clumsily (and luckily) dodging or stopping each swing, thrust, and lunge. Carlton worked flawlessly, swiftly, and tirelessly. He saw the desperation on the boy's face and knew that in a few moments, the kid would collapse.

So he eased up, with the confidence of one facing a less skilled opponent. He slowed his attacks to a stop. He gave the boy a breather, let him pant for a while, gasping and exhausted. It was amusing to toy with another.

Ali looked up and saw the cold delight in her adversary's eyes. He was playing with her, she realized dully. And when he was done toying around, she would be finished. Dead. Like her mother.

But no. Alianne Peterson had not ran away from her father's home, endured years of scolding and groundations, escaped the clutches of the Espirtu's evil, greedy crew and captain, rowed about a mile on a rough sea, slaved away at meals and at sword lessons, and watched her mother die to simply give up now.

She was exhausted. But she would not go down without a fight. Mustering up all the energy Ali had left, she burst into a rapid version of the only offensive tactic she could think of—the Raven's Sweep.

Ali ducked an incoming slash from Carlton, and sidestepped a lunge of his own. She began to follow the intricate footwork laid out and ground into her mind. Ali felt detached again, like she was replaying a video and watching the whole thing from above. She saw the older man stumble faintly, and could feel herself moving so fast, bobbing and weaving swiftly whilst still following the Sweep. Step right, fake thrust left, spin, step back once, twice, step left, left again, swipe, stab, fake right—and there it was! The opening that Jack had been talking about, the momentary hesitation that he had described, but that Ali had never seen. Despite all her steps and fake thrusts, she had never felt this confident, this at home, before.

It was a split second wavering of her opponent, in which time seemed to freeze. She knew what she had to do—all uncertainty from before vanished from her heart. Ali could do this. She was born for this life of adventure, of swordsmanship, of freedom. And she was about to prove it.

With a deft little jab of her own, Ali hooked the tip of her blade into the handle of Carlton's. She flicked, and swept—and his weapon went flying over her shoulder to land with a thunk, embedded into the wooden deck firmly.

"Surrender," she whispered harshly to Carlton, who was slowly raising both his hands, his mouth agape in awe and horror, probably because one so weak and so unskilled had managed to disarm him. She pointed her sword at his throat, centimeters away from ripping his skin.

A rush of elation flooded Ali's being. She turned around, grinning, at the crewmembers on the deck. Jack was one of the closest ones, and he was staring at Ali too, an expression of complete and utter disbelief upon his face. It matched the look on all the others' faces, as well.

Ali grinned and blushed shyly. She knew she had just performed a perfect demonstration of the Raven's Sweep when no one had been expecting it, but did they really have to stare so? It was making her uncomfortable.

She self consciously ran her fingers through a few loose strands of hair, to suddenly find that the hair never ended and the hat never started. Where was her hat? She frantically started patting the top of her head, trying vainly to find it. Ali searched, in a panic, for the blessed disguise all around her. It was nowhere to be seen.

Then, something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. There it was, the traitor! Floating lightly atop of the ocean waves, the piece of brown fabric wafted innocently to and fro in beat with the rhythm of the sea.

Ali looked back to the stares of the crew and of Jack and of Carlton, and realized that they were not impressed with her Raven's Sweep. They were simply stunned that she was a woman. Her secret was out. _Shit. _

**A/N: Mwahahahahaha, how's THAT for a cliffhanger? Anyways, guyz, I really need your input on this chapter. It has action in it, and I'm not experienced at ALL in writing action, so please tell me how I did! I would so greatly appreciate it. Again, I apologize for the long absence. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**


	15. Lass

**A/N: I'm baaaaaack. Special thanks to PrincessAmberly for the encouragement…she motivated me to return. Even if it is a short chapter...  
Oh boy. It's been…awhile, hasn't it? Please, please, PLEASE forgive. I just…well…life took over, writer's block struck. You know how it goes. I swear the next update will be sooner—much, much sooner. Please read and review!!! **

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"He's a she?" Gibbs asked in confusion, trying to lift himself up to get a better view of Ali. "I can't see, damn it!" He cursed. The throngs of crewmembers had gathered around Ali and the Captain and were now blocking Gibb's limited view.

"And ye shouldn't have to," Anamaria growled, pushing the old man back to the wooden deck. "Hold still, ye old busybody. I'm not done bandagin' ye yet. D'ye _want_ to bleed to death?" Gibbs growled and muttered a few curses, but settled himself down. As soon as the white cloth was wound satisfactorily around Gibbs' arm, however, Ana raised herself up on her knees and craned her neck to get a better look.

"Who's the busybody now?" Gibbs muttered mutinously, earning himself one of Ana's famous death glares.

"So the lad is a lass," Ana mused to no one in particular. "That would explain a lot of things."

Jack was in shock. He considered himself to be an expert on feminine matters, having so much experience with the opposite sex. Understanding estrogen was like a second nature to him—he had so much knowledge, he might as well have been part female himself. Which, if one thought about it, would explain a lot. But to never have suspected Alan Peters was a girl? After all the time the two had spent together? It was unthinkable.

"Captain," Green's voice called from behind. "We need to get the Pearl repaired. Cannon damage, sir."

"Yes, cannon damage," Jack said, still dazed. "Where's the nearest port?"

"Five miles off, Captain," Green replied. "Isle de Viva. Shall we bring her there?"

"Aye," Jack answered absentmindedly. "Aye. And cage up that bastard, Carlton, alright? Don't want him runnin' loose, do we?" Green shook his head no.

"And what about the girl, Captain?"

"I'll deal with her. La—ss. Lass. Come with me to the Captain's room."

Ali followed Jack slowly, the foreboding feeling of trepidation expanding inside her stomach. She was caught, and by the looks of it, no one was happy with her little surprise. Ali entered the Captain's room, and Jack slammed the door behind them. She bit her lip. This was it.

"So," Jack said calmly, sitting leisurely in a seat and propping his feet up on the desk. How in the world could he be calm? It was a mystery to Ali, whose own innards seemed determined to writhe out of her skin. She had mutant butterflies in her stomach—the normal ones weren't so active. "Yer a woman."

Ali remained silent. The answer seemed pretty obvious to her.

"And you've been pretending to be a man for what, a month?" Jack asked in that same blank tone. Ali nodded slightly, her eyes a deep, frightened stormy gray. "Why." It was more a statement than a question.

"Because I wanted out," Ali whispered quietly. She drew in a calming breath and then let it out with the air of one who has seen too much of the world. "I just wanted to be free."

"From what?" He asked, genuinely curious. What in the world would make her so desperate, so willing to do the unspeakable?

She took in a deep breath. "From my life." She replied at last.

"What was so bad about yer life, love?" If she hadn't been paralyzed with fear, she would've noticed how gentle his tone was, how soft his gaze was.

"I just couldn't stay there. I couldn't do it." She pressed her lips together firmly, and he nodded, knowing that he wouldn't get any more answers from her.

"You realize your plan was stupid, aye?" He asked casually, not waiting for her replying nod. "You could've been captured. Tortured, raped, killed. Very, very risky business you committed yourself to, love."

She remained still, tensing slightly.

He let the silence drift, thinking to himself at the sheer wonder that she had survived. The girl in front of him was a bit of a miracle, all in all. Not many like her existed. He wasn't so caught up in his thoughts not to notice her fidget, however. First a shifting from foot to foot, then a biting of lip, then a wringing of hands, and finally, the question exploded from her.

"What are you going to do with me?"

"What am I going to do with you, indeed." Jack mused.

Jack would not meet Ali's pleading gaze. He stared instead at his hands, inspecting each nail and finger carefully. The air hung, thick and tense and tangible, between the two.

"What's yer name, lass?" Jack inquired at last, still not looking at her.

"Ali."

"Ali what?"

"Alianne," she whispered. "Alianne Peterson."

He lifted an eyebrow but remained quiet. She wanted to flinch, wanted to run, wanted to stop her name from _blatantly _screaming nobility. She settled instead for biting her lip again. Jack, on the other hand, showed no emotion. He lifted himself fluidly, calmly, and wordlessly headed to the door. He paused when his hand was on the knob; turned and said almost carelessly, cruelly to her: "Well, Alianne Peterson, I shall need you to stay in this room for a few minutes. The crew and I have to discuss your future upon this ship. If you have a future, that is. We will vote and decide what to do with you." And so he left her.

**A/N: Wow, this is overdue. It's _definitely _been a while. Do I still have readers out there? If yes, please read and review! I swear the next one will be faster. And longer, and better, and just more exciting--this was a bit of a transition chapter. So leave a thought!!! Reviewers are my motivation.**


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